The Strand Magazine, No. 30

THE

ST^HDD MjlGfLZmB

$%n Jllxistrated Jffonthly

EDITED BY

GEORGE NEWNES

Vol. V.

JANUARY TO JUNE

Xonfcon :

GEORGE NEWNES, LTD., 8, 9, 10, & 11, SOUTHAMPTON STREET,
AND EXETER STREET, STRAND.

1893.

'The Head Book-Keeper Stepped Out of the Safe."
(Pierre and Baptist e.)

By Beckles Willson.

ONCE knew two industrious
mechanics named Pierre and
Baptiste. They dwelt in a
ramshackle tenement at Sault
aux Belceuil, where each had
half-a-dozen children to sup-
port, besides their wives ; who, it is grievous
to relate, were drones. They were only
nominally acquainted with that godly art
commonly associated with charwomen.

Pierre and Baptiste were hard workers.
They worked far into the night and, occa-
sionally, the thin mists of
dawn had begun to break
on the narrow city pave-
ments before their labours
would cease. No one
could truthfully say that
theirs was not a hard-
earned pillow. Sometimes
they did not toil in vain.
It depended largely upon
the police.

It was early one No-
vember that this horny-
handed pair planned the
burglary of a certain safe
located in a wholesale
establishment in St. Mark
Street. On the particular
evening that Pierre and
Baptiste hit upon for the
deed, the head book-
keeper had been having
a wrangle with his

" I can't make head or tail of this ! " he
declared to his employer, the senior member
of the firm, " yet I am convinced everything
must be right. An error of several hundred
dollars has been carried over from each daily
footing, but where the error begins or ends,
I'm blessed if I can find out."

The fact was that the monthly sales had
been unusually heavy, and a page of the
balance had been mislaid. The head book-
keeper spent upwards of an hour in casting
up both the entries of himself and his

accounts.

" THE HEAD BOOK-KEEPER HAD BEEN HAVING A WRANGLE WITH HIS ACCOUNTS."

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THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

subordinates after the establishment had
closed its doors for the day.

Then he went home to supper, determined
to return and locate the deficit, if he didn't
get a wink of sleep until morning.

Book-keepers, it must be borne in mind,
have highly sensitive organisms, which are
susceptible to the smallest atom reflecting
upon their probity or skill. At half-past eight
the book-keeper returned and commenced
anew his critical calculations. He worked
precisely three hours and a half ; at the end
of which period he suddenly clapped his
hand to his forehead and exclaimed : —

" Idiot ! Why haven't you looked in the
safe for a missing sheet ? Ten chances to
one they have been improperly numbered ! "

He turned over the
pages of the balance on
his desk, and, sure
enough, the usual nume-
rical mark or designation
in the upper left-hand
corner which should follow
eleven was missing. Page
twelve, in all likelihood,
had slipped into some
remote corner of the safe.

The safe was a large
one, partially receding
into the wall and contain-
ing all the papers, docu-
ments, and several day
receipts in cash and
drafts of the firm.

The head book-keeper,
in his efforts at unearth-
ing the lost page of the
cash balance, was obliged
to intrude his entire
person into the safe.
Fearful lest the candle he
held should attract atten-
tion from the street, show-
ing out as it did against
the black recesses of the
safe, upon entering he
drew the door slightly
ajar.

As he stepped in the tail of his coat caught
on an angle of the huge riveted lock ; the
massive gate swung to as if it weighed no
more than a pound, and the book-keeper was
a prisoner.

He heard a resonant click — that was all.
His candle went out.

The book-keeper at the outset lost his
presence of mind. He fought like a caged
animal. He first exerted almost superhuman

strength against the four sides of the iron
tomb. Then his body collapsed and, not for
an instant losing consciousness, he found
himself sitting in a partially upright posture,
unable to so much as stir a muscle.

It was almost at the same moment,
although hours seemed to have passed, that
the drum of his ear, now abnormally sensi-
tive, was almost split into fragments. A
frightful monotonous clangour rent the
interior of the safe.

The book-keeper used to observe afterwards
that a single second's deviation of character-
istic thought and he would have gone mad.
Stronger minds in a parallel situation would
have " indeed collapsed. But a weaker man
can never confront the inevitable, but clings

HE STEPPED IN.

They are only
in the act of

more stubbornly to hope,
weak individualities who,
drowning, catch at straws.

As the book-keeper felt himself gradually
growing faint for want of air to breathe, his
revivified hope led him to deliberately crash his
fist into the woodwork with which the interior
of the safe was fitted, in secretaire fashion, one
drawer being built above another. This gave
him a few additional cubic feet of air.

PIERRE AND BAPTISTE.

549

As may have been conjectured, the noise
which smote the book-keeper's ear was that
of a drill. Although acutely discerned
within, the sound was practically smothered
on the outside of the vault.

At one end of the drill was a cavity,
rapidly growing larger, in one of the steel
panels. At its other end was a heavy, warty
fist, part of the anatomy of Baptiste, the
industrious mechanic. Baptiste held the drill
while his comrade, Pierre, pounded it in.

Soon the two burglars became aware that
some sort of animal commotion was going on
within the safe. It nearly drove them into
convulsions of astonishment. Baptiste was
so startled that he dropped the drill.

" It is a ghost," he said.

Baptiste was for throwing up the job
uncompromisingly on the spot, but this
proposal met with obstacles. His fellow
workman, who was of stiffer courage, re-
jected it with scorn, as savouring too much
of the superstitious. Pierre had a large
family to support, he argued. He spoke
frankly. They could not afford to throw
away the opportunities of Providence. To his
friend and co-labourer, the burden of his
remarks was : —

" Lache ! Go hon ! You make me tired wiz
yer ghosts an' tings. Let's not have no beast
foolin' — see ? De job is commence : Allons I "

The upshot of this was that Pierre and
Baptiste went back to work. At the third
crack of the drill, Pierre crossed himself,
and said : —

" Baptiste,
dere's a man
in dat safe ! "

Both men
grew pale as
death at the
very sugges-
tion. Baptiste,
for instance,
was so frighten-
ed he couldn't
utter a syllable.
His tongue
clove to the
roof of his
mouth. How-
ever, Pierre, as
usual, was the
first to recover.
He applied
his ear, first to
the lock and
then to the
drill-hole.

I am
open the

" Hey, in dere ! " he cried, yet not so loud
as to be heard on the side-walk. To this there
came a faint response — a very faint shout
indeed ; it sounded as if it were a mile
away : —

"For God's sake, give me air !
locked in here. Try and burst
safe ! "

The two burglars did not stop to talk, but
went at once to work as if their own lives
depended on the result, instead of the life of
the mysterious occupant of the vault. In less
than four minutes they had a hole, somewhat
smaller than the business end of a collar-
. button, knocked into the panel of the vault.

Then Pierre and Baptiste paused to wipe
the sweat from their brows. The man inside
breathed.

It was now that the pair began to muse on
the denouement. Could this be a member
of the firm or an employe ? This hypothesis
jeopardized the success of the night's adven-
ture, unless, when they had permitted the
prisoner to emerge, they bound and gagged
him into silence.

On the other hand, this course would have
an ugly look. If he resisted it might mean
murder in the end ; whereas, if they did not
let him out at all, they would stand no chance
of profiting by the pecuniary contents of the
safe. Besides, as the man could scarcely
live thus until morning, they would be
responsible for his taking off. Thus reasoned
Pierre and Baptiste.

BOTH MEN GREW PALE AS DEATH.

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THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

These were not highly comforting reflec-
tions, but there was still another and a better
in reserve. What if, after all, the man were
himself a felon ? Might he not be a
companion crib-cracker ? In that case they
would merely have to divide the spoils.

" Hey, in dere," cried Pierre, suddenly
struck with an idea. " What is de combina-
tion hof de safe ? "

" Fifteen — three — seventy-three ! " came
back in sepulchral tones.

It was evidently growing harder and harder
to draw breath through the tiny aperture.

Thus it transpired that at the expiration of
fifteen seconds the lock of the vault gave
back the same resonant click it had rendered
eight minutes previously. Thanks to the.
timely advent of Pierre and Baptiste it
opened as lightly, as airily, and as decisively
as it had closed 480 seconds before on the
unhappy accountant.

The head book-keeper gasped once or
twice, but without any assistance stepped out
into the free air. He was very pale and his
dress was much rent and disordered when
his feet touched the floor. But this pallor
quickly made way for a red flush at perceiv-
ing the two burglars, with the implements of
their profession strewn around them.

Meanwhile Pierre and Baptiste themselves
stood transfixed by the sheer novelty of the
situation.

Without any kind of speech or warning,
or without making any attempt at bravado,
the book - keeper walked deliberately to
his desk and rang an electric call for the
police. Simultaneously it seemed, for so
rapid and quiet was the action, he opened a
drawer, took out a small revolver, and covered
both burglars with a fatal precision. As he
did so he uttered these remarkable words : —

" Gentlemen, I would, indeed, be the
basest of men if I did not feel profoundly
grateful for the service you have just rendered
me. I shall always regard you as any right-
minded man should regard those who have
saved his life with imminent peril to them-
selves or, which is just the same, to their
liberty. Any demand in reason you make of
me I shall make an effort to perform — but
my duty to my employers I regard as
paramount. I have accumulated a little
money, and with it I propose to engage the
best counsel in your defence, which is
certainly marked by mitigating circumstances.
If, on the other hand, you are convicted "

Here the officers of justice entered, having
broken open the door with a crash.

JhyFTPiig BieiJiT

FASfifi®fa

By W. Cade Gall.

N elderly gentleman of our ac-
quaintance, whose reading has
been rather desultory than
profound, and tending rather
to the quaint and speculative,
was astonished recently at
coming across a volume in his library of
whose very existence he had been completely
unaware. This volume was oblong in shape,
was bound in mauve morocco, and was
called "Past Dictates of Fashion; by Crom-
well Q. Snyder, Vestamentorum Doctor."

Glancing his eye downwards past a some-
what flippant sub-title, the elderly gentleman
came, with intense amazement, to understand
that the date of this singular performance
was 1993. Other persons at a similar junc-
ture would have pinched themselves to see
if they were awake, or have tossed the book
into the street as an uncanny thing. But our
elderly gentleman being of an inquisitive and
acquisitive turn of mind, despite his quaint-
ness, recognised the fact that if he was not
of the twentieth century the volume obviously
was ; seized pen and paper, and began to make
notes with the speed of lightning. Being also
something of a draughtsman he was able to
embellish his notes with sketches from the
engravings with which " Past Dictates of
Fashion " was copiously furnished. These
sketches appear with the present article.

Fashion in dress, according to the
twentieth century author, notwithstanding its
apparent caprice, has always been governed
by immutable laws. But these laws were not

recognised in the benighted epoch in which
we happen to live at present. On the
contrary, Fashion is thought a whim, a sort
of shuttlecock for the weak-minded of both
sexes to make rise and fall, bound and re-
bound with the battledore called — social
influence. But it will interest a great many
people to learn that Fashion assumed the
dignity of a science in 1940. Ten years
later it was taken up by the University of
Dublin. By the science as taught by the
various Universities later on were explained
those points in the history, manners, and
literature of our own ancestors which were
formerly obscure and, in fact, unknown.
They were also, by certain strict rules,
enabled to foretell the attire of posterity.
Here is a curious passage from the intro-
ductory chapter to the book : —

" Cigars went out of fashion twenty years
ago. Men and women consumed so much
tobacco that their healths were endangered.
The laws of Nature were powerless to cope
with the evil. Not so the laws of Fashion,
which at once abated it. It will, however,
return in thirty-one years. In 1790 Nature
commanded men to bathe. They laughed
at Nature. In 18 10 Fashion did the same
thing. Men complied, and daily cold baths
became established. In 1900 it was pushed
to extremes. The ultra-sect cut holes in the
ice and plunged into the water. The fashion
changed. For forty years only cads bathed."

The following table is also interesting, and
should be borne in mind in considering the

55 2

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

accompanying cuts. It professes to exhibit
the sartorial characteristics of an epoch : —

Table of Waves.

1790 to

1815 „

1840 „

181s .

1840 .

1875 .

Type.
. Angiistorial
. Severe
. Latorial

Tendency.
.. Wobbling
.. Recuperative
. . Decided

1875 „

1890 „

1890 .
1915 •

. Tailor-made
. Ebullient

.. Opaque
.". Bizarre

1915 »

1940 .

. Hysterical

. . Angustorial

The first plate in the book is dated 1893,
and serves as a frontispiece. The costumes

of the lady and gentleman are familiar
enough, although we note with surprise that
the gentleman's coat-taik seem to have a
crinoline cast, and if the turned-up bottoms
of his trousers are a little mortifying, it is

atoned for by a
triumphant atti-
tude which dis-
arms hypercriti-
cism. Also the
lady's posture
makes it difficult
for us to tell
whether it is a
stick or an um-
brella she is carry-
ing.

There is a
pictorial hiatus
of some years,
but the text notes
that crinoline for
women enjoyed
a sway of some
years' duration. For, taking the tracings from
the plates in the order in which they are
given in the book, we find a subdued form
of the article in the female costume for 1905.
The ladies may well regard this plate as
astounding. There is even a suggestion of
" bloomer " about its nether portion, and if
the hat is not without precedent in history,
the waist is little short of revolutionary.

The next plate displays a gentleman's
habit for the year 1908. The tailors, fifteen
years hence, seemed to have borrowed, in
the construction of the coat, very liberally
from the lady's mantle of 1893. Apropos of
this and the ensuing three plates, it is pleasing
to be told, as we are by the author of this
book, that the long reign of black is doomed.

1905

1910

FUTURE DICTATES OF FASHION.

553

Towards the close of April, 1898, Lord
Arthur Lawtrey appeared in the Park attired
literally in purple and fine linen, i.e., in a
violet coat, with pale heliotrope trousers.

Yet, in spite of the opposition to Lord
Arthur, the wave was due, and the affec-
tion for colour spread. The new century,
at its birth, saw black relegated to the past
— also to the future. This was midway
in the Ebullient Age. Pent up for de-
cades, mankind naturally began to slop over
with sartorial enthusiasm. In 1920 its
bizarrerie became offensive, and an opposition
crusade was directed against it. Something
had to be conceded. Trousers, which
had been wavering between nautical buttons
and gallooned knees — or, in the vernacular
of the period, a sail three sheets in the wind

and a flag at half-mast —
were the items sacrificed.
Knee-breeches enjoyed
vogue for a time, but only
for a time ; for they vanished
suddenly in 1930 and were
replaced by tights or shapes.
Boots made way for Eliza-
bethan slippers. Hats had
long since gone the way of
the superannuated. Taught
by the Darwinian theory,
society discovered whence
its tendency to baldness
originated. They had re-
course by degrees to flexible
tiles of extraordinary cut.

A further glance at the
costume for the swells
between 1902 and 191 2
reveals the existence of an
entirely novel adjunct to
the male attire. Silk bows have been
.worn about the neck for nearly, if not
quite, a century, but never in the body of
the attire. It is true the gentleman as early
as 1910 adorns his nether garments with a
plain silk band, but in the elderly party of

191 1 he has assumed gay ribbons for his
shoes as well as at his knees and throat. In
this plate we greet the presence of an unmis-
takable umbrella as a good omen. But it is
only a short-lived rapture, for the spruce
young party in the next sketch is balancing
lightly between thumb and forefinger what
we take to be nothing more or less than a
shepherd's crook. This is hardly an edifying
prospect Yet if we do not altogether mis-

Vol. \

-72.

554

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

take the two wing-shaped objects projecting
from his person, it is not the only feature of
gentlemen's fashions twenty years hence
which will occasion a shock. Nor must we
overlook the frivolity of the lady of the same
period who is doing her utmost to look
pleasant under the most trying conditions.
Yet it must be confessed that in spite of its
intricate novelty and perplexity, the costume
must still be called plain. One might be
forgiven for surmising that the kerchief-
shaped article covering a portion of the lady's
bust is formed of riveted steel, for surely
nothing else could support the intolerable
load she is so blandly carrying off.

Female costume seems to have always
been regulated by the same waves and rules
which governed male costume, but in a dif-
ferent degree. In the Ebullient period it is
chiefly distinguished by head-dress and the
total abolition of stays. Crinoline, in spite of
certain opposition, enjoyed a slight revival in
the present day, and in 1897 the divided skirt
threatened to spread universally. But it
passed off, and nothing of a radical order was
attempted in this direction until the revo-
lution which brought in trousers for women
in 1942.

Meantime, in the next plate of a lady's
costume, which is dated 1922, we have
presented a very rational and beautiful style

extenuated and in some degree justified its
shortness.

The plate dated 1920 exhibits a very
gorgeous and yet altogether simple set of

of dress. The skirt, it is true, is short
enough to alarm prim contemporary dames,
and it is scarcely less assuring to find in the
whole of the remaining plates only three
periods when it seems to have got longer.
But doubtless the very ample cloak, which is
so long that it even trails upon the ground,

garments, for the male of that period. We
are told that the upper portion was of
crimson plush, and the lower part of a
delicate pink, with white stockings and
orange boots. It were well had the leaders
of fashion stopped at this, but it would
appear that either their thirst for novelty was
insatiable or the Hysterical Wave too strong
for them, for in the incredibly short space
of six years fashion had reached the stage
depicted in the following plate. Yet, even

FUTURE DICTATES OF FASHION.

555

then, the depth of folly and ugliness does not
appear to have been sounded, for three years
later, in 1929, we are favoured with a plate of

what is presumably a nusband and wife on their
way to church or perchance upon a shopping
excursion. The lady is evidently looking
archly back to see if anybody is observing
what a consummate guy her spouse is making
of himself, for with all her sartorial short-
comings she has certainly the best of the
bargain. The prudes, too, seemed to have
gained their point, for the skirt is considerably
less scanty in the region of the ankles.

This skirt seems
to have been rather
a weak point with
our posterity of the
female persuasion,
for in the next three
or four plates we
find it rising and
falling with the
habitual incorrigi-
bility of a shilling
barometer. The
Oriental influence
is easily traced in
the fashions from
1938 to 1945, but
it cannot but make
the judicious grieve
to note that trousers
seem to have been
adopted by the women at the same time
that they were discarded by the men.

A further detail which might interest

1938

the student concerns the revival of lace,
which transpired so early as 1905. Curiously
enough, this dainty adjunct to the attire had
fallen into desuetude among women. More
curiously still, it remained for the sterner sex
to revive it. For it was in that year that the
backbone of stiff white collars and cuffs was
broken. A material being sought which
would weather the existing atmospheric con-
ditions, it was yielded in lace, which con-
tinued in vogue for at least two generations.

If we look for the greatest donkey in the
entire collection, it is obvious that we shall
find him in the middle-aged party of 1936,
who is gadding about in inflated trunks and
with a fan in his hand. If it were .not for the
gloves and polka-dot neck-wear we should

556

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

assume that this costume was a particularly
fantastic bathing-suit. The youth of the en-
suing year, in the next plate, is probably a
son of the foregoing personage, for it is not
difficult to detect a strong family likeness.
As to the costume itself for 1937, barr : ng the
shaved head and Caledonian cap, there is

plate for 1945. The confidently asinine
demeanour of this youth is hardly relieved by
the absurdity of a watch suspended by a
chain from the crown of his hat. That
society protested against this aspect of idiocy
is evinced by the harmonious costume for
1950, in which a complete revolution is to

1948

nothing particular to be urged against it. It
seems clearly a revival of the dress of the
Middle Ages.

It is at least consoling to feel that only a
very small minority of those who read this is
destined to enliven our thoroughfares with
such grotesque images as is furnished by the

be noted. We hasten to observe that the
latter plate — the one for 1 948 — is that
of a clergyman.

There is very little beauty about the lady's
costume for 1946, or in that of the child in
the plate. That for 1950 is a great improve-
ment. The exaggerated chignon has disap-

FUTURE DICTATES OF FASHION.

557

peared, and two seasons later we find the
costume fascinating to a degree, although
certainly partaking more of the male than of
the female order of dress. Without the cape
it is not so captivating, as shown by the
plate dated 1955-6, where both a lady and

for no man's person can be considered in
danger from the mob who habitually offers so
many points a saisir as this policeman's head
displays. We may likewise suspect the
military gentleman depicted in the plate for
1965. It is not customary in the present

«//.

gentleman are shown, although to accord
praise to either's hideous style of head-dress
would be to abandon permanently all reputa-
tion for taste.

The policeman shown in the drawing for
i960 seems to have a very easy time of it,

day for army officers to affect umbrellas, but
seventy years hence it may be found necessary
to protect one's head-dress.

Mawkish describes the attire of the civilian
of the same year, but in 1970 we notice a
distinct change for the better, although

558

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

personally many of us would doubtless
strenuously object to wearing neckties of the
magnitude here portrayed. In 1975 costume

seems to have taken a step backward, and
the literary young gentleman, who is the hero
of the engraving, may well be carrying about
his MSS. inside his umbrella. Whatever may
be the merits of the spring fashions for 1978,

are dressed precisely alike. Of the three
remaining designs, that of 1984 appears
to us to exhibit the contour of the lady's
figure most generously, and to have
certain agreeable and distinctive traits of its
own which are not only lacking in the gentle-
man's apparel, but are absent from the inane
conception which appears to have obtained
vogue five years later.

As to the last plate in the series, we can
only remark that if the character of our male

it would appear to have been universal
(to speak of the future in the past
tense), for both these young gallants

1(184

FUTURE DICTATES OF FASHION.

559

posterity after four or five generations is to be
as effeminate as its attire, the domination by
the fair sex cannot be many centuries dis-
tant. The gentleman appears to be lost in
contemplation of a lighted cigar. If he pos-
sessed the gift of seeing himself as others now
see him, he would probably transfer his

nineteenth we term the black century. I am
asked my opinion of the twentieth. It is
motley. It has seen the apotheosis of colour
Yet in worshipping colour we do not con-
found the order of things. As is the
twentieth, so was the fifteenth."

The author furthermore observes that

SPRlMG m $UHttE&TASM(W$,K)32.

attention to another and not less contiguous
quarter.

In a general review of the costumes of the
forthcoming century the Doctor observes : —

" The seventeenth is famous as the brown ;
the eighteenth is with us the yellow ; and the

" the single article of apparel which stands
out most silhouetted against the back-
ground of the 19th century's dress is its hard,
shiny, black head-gear. It is without a
parallel. It is impossible for us to conceive
of a similar article surviving for so long a

56°

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

period ; and I venture to say, versed as I am
in the science, nothing more absurd and irre-
deemably inappropriate, or more openly
violating in texture and contour every rational
idea on the subject, was ever launched.
In 1962 the neck was left bare, in the
neglige fashion, in imitation of Butts, the

aesthete who the year previously had dis-
covered the North Pole. In 1970, however,
ruffs were resumed and are still worn, and I
regret to say are growing in magnitude, until
they threaten to eclipse precedent."

At this juncture the notes and nap together
terminated, for our elderly gentleman woke up.

Shafts from an Eastern Quiver.

XII. — THE DAUGHTER OF LOVETSKI THE LOST.

By Charles J. Mansford, B.A.

I.

; ,UR journey seems to nave
no end, Harold," remarked
Denviers, as he lashed the
horses which drew our sledge
over the dreary plain ; " for
a week we have been pressing
on, night and day almost, in the hopeof coming
across the hut near the road over which the
exiles pass. If that mujik told us the truth,
we certainly ought to have seen it by this
time."

" We have had a long, desolate ride since
we parted with him," I assented; "yet the
snow lies in such drifts at times that we can
hardly be surprised to find ourselves stiil
driving onwards."

" See, sahibs ! " exclaimed Hassan, as he
pointed to where the snow-clad plain was at last
broken by a distant forest of stunted pines.
" There is surely the landmark of which the
mujik spoke, and the peasant woman's dwell-
ing cannot be far off."

x\fter wandering through the outlying
provinces of China, we determined to visit
the vast plains beyond, being anxious to see
a Russian mine. To all our requests for such
permission we met with refusals, until Den-
viers pressed a number of roubles into the
hand of an official, who eventually helped us
to effect our purpose, after evincing some
reluctance. Staying a few days after this at
a peasant's hut, we had been fortunate enough

to win his goodwill, and it was in consequence
of what he told us that we promised to under-
take our present expedition.

No sooner did the keen eyes of Hassan
discover the forest far ahead than we dashed
onwards quicker than ever, as our exhaled
breath froze in icy particles and the biting
wind struck right through the heavy sheep-
skin wraps which we had purchased on
entering Russia. Away across the snow our
foam-flecked horses sped, until we saw the
blue smoke curling upward in the frosty air
from a low log hut, situated so that the pine
forest sheltered it somewhat from the icy
winds.

" Someone evidently lives here," said
Denviers, as he beat with the handle of his
whip against the low door. We heard a
footstep cross the floor, then the noise of a
bar being removed as a woman opened the
door cautiously and peered into our faces.
Bent as she was with age, with hair that
hung in white masses about her shoulders,
there was an unsubdued look which rested
upon us from her dark eyes that contrasted
forcibly with the dull, patient glance of the
average Russian peasant.

" Who is it crossing the plains ? Are you
servants of the Czar ? " she asked, in a tone
of hesitation at our unexpected appearance,
and glancing strangely at Hassan, who had
secured our steeds and joined us.

"We are travellers crossing the Siberian

A DESOLATE RIDE.

562

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

wastes with our guide, and come to you for
shelter," I answered, although we had a
deeper purpose in visiting her.

"It is yours," the woman replied, and
having shaken our sheepskin wraps, we
entered the hut and accepted the invitation
to gather about the pine-wood fire which
burnt in one corner of the rude dwelling.

" You are not a Russian peasant ? " re-
marked Denviers, in a tone of inquiry, for
the woman spoke English with some fluency.

" I am not, for my people are the Lost
Ones, of whom you may have heard," she
answered, with a dreary smile.

" We do not understand you," Denviers
responded, as we waited for her explanation.

" If you were men of this country my words
would be lucid enough. Among all those
who were overcome in the many Polish
struggles for liberty, none have ever returned
who once trod the road by which the exiles
passed to join those whom we call Our Lost."

" You have a motive for living here ? " I
remarked quietly, watching attentively to see
what effect my words would have upon her.

" I am friendless and alone, choosing
rather to dwell here within sight of the
way to Tomsk, than in the great city from
which I came. The Czar is merciful, and
permits this."

" Then the mujik who directed us here
was mistaken," I persisted. " He related
strange stories to us of fugitives, whom the
peasants whisper "

" Hush ! " she cried, looking nervously
round. " What was the mujik's name ? "
For reply I placed in her hand a scrap of
paper, upon which the man had scrawled a
message. She glanced keenly at us after
reading the missive, then answered : —

" He may be mistaken in you, for you are
Englishmen, and do not understand these
things. A piece of black bread — what is it
that it should be denied to an enemy, even
of the Czar, who has escaped from the
mines and wanders for refuge over these
frozen wastes ? "

"You may trust us fully in this matter,"
said Denviers. " We have given our word to
the mujik to render all the help we can."

"It is a terrible day to traverse the plain,"
the woman replied, as she rose and threw
open the rough door to the icy blast, which
was only imperfectly kept out before. We
followed to where she stood, then watched
as she raised her hand and pointed at a
distant object.

" See ! " the woman cried, bitterly ;
" yonder pine cross marks the spot where

a brave man fell, he who was the lover of
the daughter of Lovetski, one of our Lost
Ones. By it, before the day is ended, will
pass the long train of exiles guarded by the
soldiery and headed by the one who hates to
see that monument of his own misdeeds, but
fears to remove it, for, persecuting the living,
he dreads the dead." She closed and barred
the door again ; then, after some hesitation,
spoke of the one to help whom we had gone
so far.

" It was the night of a masquerade at the
Winter Palace, long to be remembered by
many, for on the following day another rising
of the Poles had been planned to take place.
A number of the leading citizens of St.
Petersburg were involved in it, but so well
apparently was their secret kept, that they
ventured to accept the invitations issued to
them. Amid the mad revel the plotters
moved, making occasionally a furtive sign of
recognition to each other, or venturing at
times to whisper as they passed the single
word which told of all their hopes and fears
— ' To-morrow ! ' Chief among them was
Count Lovetski, who murmured the watch-
word more hopefully than any of those con-
cerned whenever his keen eyes searched out
those sworn to take part in the revolt so near
at hand.

" For three hours the gay crowd moved
through the salons, then Lovetski, as he
leant against a carved pillar, saw one of the
revellers who was clad in strange attire
approach several of the masqueraders and
smilingly whisper something in their ears.
At last the Count saw the stranger move close
to himself, and a moment after he heard a
mocking laugh from behind the black mask,
as the unknown one stooped and uttered the
preconcerted word. Lovetski looked doubt-
fully at the man's sombre garb, for the glance
from his eyes was by no means reassuring.

" ' To-morrow ! ' repeated the masker.
' Count Lovetski, you do not respond.
Have you forgotten ? '

" ' Lower your voice, or we shall be heard
by others,' said the Count, with a warning
gesture. ' Who are you ? '

" ' One of the three hundred citizens who
are sworn to revolt to-morrow. The appointed
day is fast drawing near, for in ten minutes
the great clock will chime the midnight hour,
and then, Count Lovetski — Siberia ! '

" His listener stared in blank amazement,
then, regaining his composure, he replied : —

" ' So the plot is discovered ? I am no
coward. When is it settled for me to set
out?'

SHAFTS FROM AN EASTERN QUIVER.

563

'"At the last stroke of
the hour a drosky will await
you at the main entrance.
The palace is guarded by
the soldiery. The others do
not start immediately ; you
are the leader, and will be
ready, doubtless.'

"'Quite,' answered
Lovetski, for he knew resist-
ance would be useless. He
quietly passed his sword to
the masker, who took it,
smiled again, and
disappeared in the
crowd. One by
one the followers
of the Count were
singled out by the
strange messenger
of the Czar, and
when the mas-
querade was over
three hundred
exiles followed the
track of the sledge
in which their
leader had been
hurried away a
couple of hours be-
fore them on the
long, dreary jour-
ney to Tomsk.

" Lovetski was refused the privilege of
communicating his whereabouts to his wife,
who shortly after this event died, leaving
their daughter to the care of strangers.
Before long a rumour reached the capital
that the Count had been shot while attempting
to escape in disguise, and this was eventually
found to be true.

" Scarcely had Marie Lovetski reached
womanhood when she joined a political
movement, fired with a mad resolve to avenge
her father's death, and within a year her name
appeared among those on the list of suspects,
whose every action was closely observed.
A Russian officer of high rank, Paul SomalofT,
who had more than once made her an offer
of marriage, begged her to remember the
fate which overtook Count Lovetski, but
the bare mention of it only made the woman
more inexorable. The end which everyone
foretold soon came, for, seated one day in
the midst of treasonable correspondence,
Marie Lovetski was surprised by three
gendarmes, who burst into her apartment.
She tore the letter into fragments before
thiy could stop her, then scattered the pieces

'SIBERIA !"

over the floor. One
of the gendarmes,
motioning to his com-
panions to pick them
up, moved towards
her and attempted
her arrest. For one
moment the woman
stood at bay, then
thrust the cold barrel
of a pistol into the
gendarme's ear.

" ' Raise but a
hand or move an
inch nearer and I
will shoot you ! '
she cried, warn-
ingly. Her would-
be captor shrunk
back, and before
he had recovered
from his surprise
Marie Lovetski
darted past him
towards the door.
She seized the
handle to wrench
it open, then saw
that all was lost.
The door was
locked and the
gendarme had
removed the key.
There was a fierce struggle, in which one of
the officers was dangerously wounded, but
eventually they secured her, and within two
months Marie Lovetski set out to traverse
the same dreary road over which the Count
had gone long before when she was a mere
child.

" Ivan Rachieff, the masquerader who had
whispered into Count Lovetski's ear the fate
to which he was consigned, was at that time
a young attache at the Court of the Czar.
The zeal which he displayed in hunting
down the autocrat's enemies rapidly brought
promotion, so that when Marie Lovetski was
exiled he had risen to be a general of the
Russ army, and specially chosen for the duty
of heading the Cossacks who conducted the
exiles over the Siberian wastes, while among
his subordinates was Paul Somaloff, who held
a position scarcely inferior to his own.

" Convicted of a double offence, Marie
Lovetski was condemned to walk the whole
of that wearisome distance among criminals
bound for the mines, while the political
exiles were somewhat less harshly treated.
General Rachieff had been warned that a

5 6 4

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

THRUST THE COLD BARREL OF A PISTOL INTO THE GENDARMES EAR.

band of discontents had threatened to attempt
the rescue of the prisoners, and special powers
of life and death were granted to him. By
long forced marches he hurried the exiles on,
scarcely giving them a few hours' rest each
night when they arrived at their halting-
places on the route.

" It was with a deep feeling of sorrow at
his inability to lessen her sufferings that Paul
Somaloff glanced many times on the way at
Marie Lovetski. In spite of the strange
position in which he found himself, his love
for the woman was by no means lessened,
but increased each day as he saw to his
dismay how plainly her strength was failing
as he looked upon the woman's haggard
countenance, who was wearily dragging her
limbs forward over the frozen wastes. One
day Marie Lovetski's condition became so
serious that Somaloff begged General
Rachieff to order the fetters which bound her
wrists to be removed, receiving in reply a
refusal as contemptuous as it was decisive.
All that day the exile's secret lover walked
moodily on, racking his brains for some
method by which to save the woman from
dying before even the terrible journey was
ended.

" Not far from the hut in which you are

now resting, the weary exiles
were halted that night, and
soon sank down in the log
building into an exhausted
sleep. After a severe conflict
between his love and his
allegiance to the Czar, Paul
Somaloff rose, and, stealing
carefully among the uncon-
scious ones, he bent at last
over the form of
Marie Lovetski,
stretched upon a
straw pallet.

"'Marie,' he
whispered softly, as
he cautiously
awakened her.
" T i s I, Paul
Somaloff — I come
to save you.'

" He remained
by the woman's
side till he had
deftly removed the
manacles from her
wrists, then stole to
the entrance as she
silently followed
him. Once he was
building, Somaloff made for
where his general's horse was stabled, and
quickly untethering it led it forth. For one
brief moment he clasped the exile to his
breast, then lifted her into the saddle and
placed the reins in her hand with a few
hurried words as to the best course to pursue
to avoid pursuit.

"Suddenly Paul Somaloff felt a heavy
hand grip him by the shoulder, and turning
round he found himself face to face with
Ivan Rachieff, his general ! At the same
time the woman was dragged from the horse
and held by three of the Cossacks.

" ' Your traitorous plan was well thought
out,' said Rachieff, as he smiled in derision
at its failure. ' Paul Somaloff, you have
broken your oath to the Czar, and I swear
you shall die for this.'

" ' You may do your worst,' replied the
young officer. ' You would not listen to my
repeated appeals for a slight act of clemency
for Marie Lovetski, and so have turned a
loyal subject of the Czar into a traitor.'

" ' Insolent ! ' cried General Rachieff. ' At
sunrise you shall be knouted to death.'

" ' Coward that you are,' retorted Somaloff,
' that is a punishment you dare not inflict
upon one who wears a decoration given to

outside the log

SHAFTS FROM AN EASTERN QUIVER.

565

him by the august Czar. I am a soldier,
General, and, at the hands of my comrades,
will die a soldier's death.'

" ' So be it,' ai.rwered Rachieff, calmly ;
' you shall be shot at sunrise,' and he
motioned to tne soldiers who had gathered
about him to take Somaloff into their charge,
then turned on his heel and strode away,
humming an idle air.

" The grey morning had scarcely dawned
when 'brave young Somaloff was blindfolded
and led forth to be shot in sight of the
exiles, while the woman whom he had failed
to save looked helplessly on.

" A few minutes afterwards, Paul Somaloff
knelt on the snow-covered plain, the report
of a dozen rifles rang out on the morning
air, and the exiles saw his arms raised as he
clutched convulsively at his breast, then he
fell forward, dead !

HE FELL FORWARD, DEAD.

" The wild, despairing cries of the exiles
were quelled with threats of the knout, and
then the prisoners were hurried on, as they
had been for so many days and weeks past.
Ten days later a large number of Polish
insurrectionists, ill-armed, and accompanied
by a throng of even worse accoutred pea-
sants carrying a red banner, flung themselves
upon the line of march, and made a futile

effort to break through the soldiers who
guarded the exiles. The trained troopers of
the Czar thrust them back and, as they broke
and fled into the forest, chased and cut
them down like sheep, till the snow turned
to a crimson hue with their hearts' blood.

"The exiles made desperate efforts to
avail themselves of the opportunity to
escape which the confusion presented.
Those who were unbound fought with
branches, which they tore from the stunted
trees, while the others madly thrust the
shackles upon their wrists into the faces of
the brutal soldiery, who knouted or cut down
men and women indiscriminately. Long
will that massacre be remembered, and the
dreadful sufferings which the survivors en-
dured at the command of Ivan Rachieff.
When at last Tomsk was reached, only a
handful of decrepit exiles passed into the
city out of all those who
started on the long
journey."

"And Marie I.ovetski?"
I interrupted, '' did she
live to complete the dis-
tance, or what was her
fate ? "

" It was reported that
she was cut -down during
the massacre," the woman
replied, slowly ; " for no-
thing has been heard of
her since by General
Rachieff,
although
her body
could not be
found among
the slain."

I glanced
at the woman
thoughtfully
as she con-
cluded her
story, and
Denviers,who
had listened
in silence
throughout,

You are aware
you know her

asked : —

" Where is Marie Lovetski ?
that she is alive — nay, more,
place of concealment."

Surprised at the directness of the question,
the woman involuntarily rose, and then, seeing
that we suspected the fugitive was hidden in
the log hut, she answered : —

" Marie Lovetski is not here, yet if the

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THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

mujik has rightly judged your courage, within
a week he will see your sledge return with one
more occupant than when it started. Once
she is carried there her escape is assured,

for " She stopped suddenly and pointed

to the door. We listened attentively as the
sound of footsteps drew near, then a heavy
blow smote the barred entrance and a voice
exclaimed : —

" Open, in the Czar's name ! " The
woman's face turned ashy pale as she
muttered faintly : —

" That is the voice of Ivan Rachieff, who
is again in command of the exiles," and she
drew away the heavy bar to admit him. We
rose to our feet in an instant as the door was
flung open and General Rachieff entered and
stood before us.

II.

For a moment the Russian officer stared at

us without speaking, then throwing back his

heavy sealskin cloak and

revealing the military garb

which he wore beneath,

he asked the woman,

sternly : —

" What does the pre-
sence of these men in your
hut mean ? "

" We are travellers, who
have asked for shelter.
Our guide is an Arab ;
we are Englishmen," re-
sponded Denviers, quietly
but decisively.

" Spies, I do not doubt,"
said Rachieff, as he bit his
heavy moustache.

"My word is accustomed
to be believed," replied
my companion, sharply.
" If you doubt what I
have said, read that," and
he flung a package con-
taining our passports upon
the table as he spoke.

The officer took out our
passports, which we had
been careful to obtain.
He glanced through them,
then tossed the papers on to the table again
as he remarked, in a morose tone : —

" You would not be the first Englishmen
who have made their way into the Czar's
territory only to discredit it."

" You have chosen a curious method of
displaying your pleasantry," retorted Denviers,
glancing sternly at the heavy-bearded Russian

who had so wantonly insulted us. Rachieff
drew a chair to the table, and, sitting down,
leant his head upon his hands, narrowly
scrutinizing our features.

" I saw some horses and a sledge in the
shed without," he continued; "are they

yours .

answered my companion,

" They are,
laconically.

" Where was your last stopping-place be-
fore you reached here ? " Rachieff asked, as if
he were examining some prisoners.

" We are neither Russian subjects nor
refugees," Denviers replied. " You may save
your inquiries for others, since we have no
intention of satisfying your ill-timed curiosity."
My companion turned his back to Rachieff,
and raising a blazing piece of pine-wood
which had fallen, tossed it again among the
glowing embers, taking no more notice of the
discomfited officer. Rachieff was non-
plussed ; he frowned heavily, then rising,
moved to the door.
He turned as he
held it partly open,
saying : —

" If you were a

NARROWLY SCRU'l INIZ1NG OUR FEATURES.

Russian gentleman instead of an English
spy, I would call you out for your insolence
to an officer in the Czar's service."

I saw the blood mount to Denviers's fore-
head as he snatched the driving whip which
Hassan held and, striding forward, struck the
Russian a blow across his face with it.

" If I were an exile, no doubt you would

SHAFTS FROM AN EASTERN QUIVER.

567

knout me for that," he said, quietly. "You
can do nothing as it is, since our papers are
in order, except fight me."

" I am in command of the exiles,"
answered Rachieff. " They are now passing
yonder ; when the halting-place is reached
to-night I will leave my subordinate in charge
of them and return here with an officer as
my second. If you are not a coward you
will be here awaiting me at mid-day."

" I shall be here," replied Denviers.
" Choose your own weapons ; you have
brought this meeting about entirely un-
provoked, and to-morrow you or I will fall."

" Adieu till then ! " cried Rachieff, with a
bitter smile of hatred, then he turned his
face away, upon which was a long livid mark
where the whip had fallen, and we saw him
stride towards the exiles passing over the
plain before us.

" Ivan Rachieff is one of the most skilful
duellists with sword or pistol in the Czar's
army," said the woman, who had been an
attentive observer of all that passed between
the two men. " He will kill you with as little
remorse as he ordered Paul Somaloff to be
shot by the soldiers."

" Paul Somaloff ! " exclaimed Denviers.
" Ah ! I had forgotten his fate for a moment ;
but to-morrow, when Rachieff and I stand
face to face, I will surely remember it."

"Allah and Mahomet help the sahib," cried
Hassan. " If the bearded Russ should chance
to win, he shall fight the Arab afterwards."

" Never mind Rachieff, Hassan," said
Denviers ; " we must at once make our plans
for the purpose of helping Marie Lovetski to
escape from Siberia. Whatever happens to
me, she must be saved at all hazards."

" Where is the woman concealed ? " I
asked the one who was our hostess.

She rose and questioned us : —

" Will you swear by the memorial which I
have raised over Paul Somaloff's resting-
place never to speak of what you may see in
the strange hiding-place to which I may
conduct you ? "

" We will," I answered briefly, as Denviers
joined in assenting.

We lost little time after Rachieff's depar-
ture, but drew together and discussed the
probabilities of various plans succeeding, and
at last decided on that which seemed to
promise success. The dusk rapidly closed
in upon us as we sat in thoughtful conversa-
tion, after which the woman rose, and, having
scanned the plain near the hut as well as she
could in the gloom, motioned to us to follow
her.

Hassan remained in the hut while we set
out, and making our way through a part of the
pines and firs close to the dwelling in which
we had sought shelter, we found ourselves
groping blindly along, following each other
like phantoms in the darkness which
enveloped us. So far there was little need
for the woman to have sworn us to secrecy,
for neither going nor returning did we get a
glimpse of anything likely to indicate the
spot to us again at any future time. At last
we felt what appeared to be a rough flight of
stone steps beneath our feet, then our guide
lit a pine-wood torch which she carried.

Holding up the flickering light before us,
the woman led us into what we conjectured
to be one of the catacombs of an ancient
city. On both sides of us as we moved
along the red flare of the pine-wood revealed
many bodies of the dead, each stretched in a
niche cut for it in the red rock, while at
intervals between these we saw the resting-
places of others distinguished by various
strange emblems. One of these niches was
silently guarded by two carved figures of
horsemen with their white steeds caparisoned,
and each of the riders held in his uplifted
hand a sword such as the Damascenes use.

"A strange resting-place that," I remarked
to Denviers, as it stood out weird and
ghastly in the light of the torch. " No
Russian soldiery ever wear such accoutre-
ments as are depicted there, I am certain."

" They wear the garb of boyars of the
time of Ivan the Terrible," our guide
said, as she pointed to the mounted horse-
men. "Where the pine forest about us
is now there stood more than four hundred
years ago one of the many cities built by that
extraordinary monarch, but it has long been
blotted out, and the Russ have forgotten its
very existence. None now know of its
catacombs save those of us who form a
secret band, and whose object is to help the
exiles who may escape and seek shelter and
a safe hiding-place. Even now it would be
impossible for you to find the one you seek,
and if you wish to go farther it must be done
blindfolded, or I will not lead you."

We stood by the strangely carved horse-
men, and having consented to the woman's
request, allowed her to fasten our sashes
securely over our eyes ; then, led by her, we
slowly advanced through what appeared to
be a labyrinth of ways until we were stopped
by someone who spoke to the woman in a
calm, grave tone. There was a whispered
conversation between the two, directly follow-
ing which our eyes were uncovered, and we

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found ourselves facing a strangely-robed
hermit. His long white beard fell almost to
his waist, contrasting forcibly with the black
garment which covered him, while his high
forehead and the steadfast look directed
towards us seemed to be in keeping with the
hermit's strange surroundings. A heap of
blazing pine-wood lit up his retreat and served
to lessen the intense coldness of the air.

WE FOUND OURSELVES FACING A STRANGELY-ROBED HERMIT.

" You are Englishmen, and have promised
to help Marie Lovetski to escape from here
to our next station of refuge," he said.
" Since the day when she fled she has been
hidden in various of our secret places. Six
months ago she was brought here, yet so
dangerous is the risk that we have waited for
the mujik's messengers, telling us that all is
safe for her to be conveyed there. He says
in his message that you can be trusted, and
doubtless your passports will help you to
accomplish the task more easily than Russ or
Pole could do. We trust, then, in your honour,
that once Marie Lovetski is in your keeping,
you will die in her defence rather than sur-
render her to the horrors of a mine."

We explained to the hermit the difficulty

which the approaching duel between Denviers
and Rachieff might cause, and discussed with
him the possibility of overcoming it. Denviers
was emphatic in his determination to meet
the Russian on the morrow, and so it was
arranged that at a certain hour Marie Lovetski
should leave the catacombs and secretly
watch the result of the duel. If Denviers
escaped uninjured we were to mount our

sledge and make
for the spot where
she would be
stationed, and
hiding her beneath
the wraps, to start
on our long
journey back to
the mujik who
had intrusted us
with the task of
saving her.

"You will, of
course, allow us to
see this exile ? "
Denviers re-
marked, as soon
as everything was
arranged. " It was
for that purpose
that we were
brought here to-
night."

" Then your
visit has been
made in vain,"
was the un-
expected reply.
"It will be time
enough for you to
do so if your
duel with Rachieff
is successful."
We endeavoured to overcome the hermit's
objection, but, although the woman who had
guided us there spoke strenuously on our
behalf, the strange guardian of Marie Lovetski
was not to be persuaded from following
his own cautious plan. Finding our protests
useless, we consented to be blindfolded once
more, and were led back through the cata-
combs into the forest, and before long we had
entered the log hut again. There we threw
ourselves on our sheepskin wraps in front of
the pine-wood fire, and laid down upon them
to sleep ; then, when daylight came, the
woman awoke ua and we passed the morning
vaguely wondering what the result of the duel
would be.

Denviers urged upon our guide, Hassan,

SHAFTS FROM AN EASTERN QUIVER.

569

and myself the necessity of attempting to
save the woman so long shut up in the dismal
catacombs, and at last I gave a reluctant con-
sent to do so if he fell, instead of making an
attempt to avenge him. The Arab stolidly
refused to do this, and justified his position
by numerous quotations from the Koran,
while declaring that Mahomet would certainly
come to my companion's assistance, which, in
spite of the gravity of his position, provoked
a- smiling retort from Denviers. Little did
we know what the termination of the fight
would be, or the strange part in it which
Marie Lovetski was to have.

III.

" Hark, sahibs ! " exclaimed Hassan.
" Although noon has not yet come, the
Russian is approaching to keep his promise
to fight."

We threw open the door of the hut and dis-
tinguished the ringing sound of the bells of a
distant sledge. A few minutes after this the
cracking of a whip and the neighing of horses
were heard, and finally we saw the sledge appear
before us. There were three occupants, and
as it drew near we distinguished among them
General Rachieff as the one who was urging
on the horses. The conveyance dashed up
to the hut ; then one of the officers sprang
out and restrained the animals, while a
second, who carried a couple of swords,
followed close behind Rachieff, with whom
Denviers was soon to try conclusions.

" The weapons are here," said General
Rachieff, frigidly, as Denviers approached and
bowed slightly. " There is no time to lose :
we fight with swords as you see. Choose ! "
and he motioned to his second, who held
them out. Following out the plan which we
had determined to adopt, Hassan quickly
placed our horses in our own sledge and
drew them a little ahead, so that the convey-
ance should be ready for us to enter when
the duel was ended, if my companion did not
fall in the encounter.

"We fight there," said Denviers calmly, as
he motioned to the part of the plain to the
right of where Hassan had already stationed
our sledge.

"As you will," responded Rachieff in-
differently, and, accompanied by his second,
he moved to the spot Denviers pointed out.
There the usual formalities were settled by
the other officer and myself, whereupon the
two duellists made ready and waited for the
signal to begin, which fell to my lot to give.

I fluttered a handkerchief in the biting air
for a moment, dropped it, and the swords

were rapidly crossed. The reputation which
Rachieff had won as a duellist was certainly
well deserved, since his feints and thrusts
were admirable, while Denviers, whose cool-
ness in critical circumstances never deserted
him, acted mainly on the defensive, parrying
his enemy's lunges with remarkable skill.

More than once the duellists stopped as if
by mutual consent, to regain breath, then
quickly facing each other again, fought more
determinedly than ever. Rachieff saw that
for once he had apparently met his match
with the sword, and grew by degrees more
cautious than he had been when the fight
began ; yet repeatedly he failed to com-
pletely ward off the quick lunges from my
companion's weapon, and I saw the crimson
stains of blood which marked where the
sword point had touched him. Then he
rained in his blows with lightning speed,
pressing hard upon Denviers several times,
and glaring furiously at him, while his dis-
torted features showed plainly enough the
mark of the blow he had received from the
whip the day previous.

" Rachieff wins ! " cried the Russian's
second, and I saw, to my dismay, Denviers's
weapon suddenly twisted from his hand and
flung into the air, while an exultant exclama-
tion burst from Rachieff s lips as he rushed
upon his defenceless opponent ! Before he
could make use of the advantage which he
had unexpectedly gained, Marie Lovetski
uttered a wild, mournful cry, and started
forward from the pine forest, standing pale
with momentary fear before him !

The superstitious Russian stared incredu-
lously, his sword-arm dropped to his side,
while he gasped out : —

" Lovetski's daughter, and yet she is surely
dead ! "

Taking full advantage of the Russian's
dismay, Denviers instantly flung himself upon
his foe, dashing him backwards to the
ground. Kneeling upon his enemy's chest
and gripping him by the throat, as he held
the sword he had seized before the startled
Russian, my companion hissed in his ear : —

" Yield, or you are a dead man ! "

The Russian's face turned to a purple hue
as he almost choked for breath, then he
muttered brokenly the exiled woman's name.

" She is living ! " cried Denviers, as he
lowered the point of the sword till it touched
the Russian's breast. " Swear that you will
not attempt to hinder her flight, and I will
release your throat."

General Rachieff raised his hand in sign
of assent, for his voice had failed him.

Vol. v.— 74.

57°

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

" HE KUSHF.D UPON HIS DEFENCELESS OPPONENT.'

Denviers rose, whereupon the Russian stag-
gered to his feet, then, mad at his defeat,
moved over to where his sledge was.

" Get the woman into our sledge," cried
Denviers to me. I started forward to where
Hassan was ; we snatched up the exile and
immediately drove off.

" After them, men ! " cried Rachieff, caring
nothing for his promise. " We will take
Marie Lovetski, or shoot her down ! "

" Never trust a Russ, sahibs ! " exclaimed
Hassan, as he lashed our horses on, while
our enemies followed furiously behind. " The
only way to secure his silence would have been
a sword thrust through the false one's heart."

Away our sledge was whirled across the
plain, faster and faster still, yet Rachieff, whose
horses were more numerous than our own,
drew gradually nearer. Marie Lovetski, who
had forgotten her alarm now that Denviers
was safe, turned her pale-set countenance
towards our pursuers, and, as she did so, the
report of a pistol rang out, while a bullet
whizzed past her head ! I saw Rachieff
holding the smoking weapon in his hand as
Denviers cried to me : —

" If he fires again, I will shoot him like the
dog that he is ! "

" No," cried Marie Lovetski, snatching a
pistol from my sash before I could prevent
her. " Rachieff slew Somaloff, my lover, and
I will avenge him." She pointed the weapon
full at the Russian, and I barely had time to
brush her arm aside before the frenzied exile

fired. Fortunately, the shot was deflected,
and Rachieff was saved from the fate that he
certainly deserved.

" Shoot their horses ! " exclaimed Denviers,
and as our own dashed along he leant over
towards the pursuing sledge and fired at the
foremost of them. The animal reared for a
moment, then fell dead, throwing the rest into
confusion. Out the Russians sprang, and
cut the traces through, and having in this
way speedily managed to disencumber their
steeds of the dead one, they immediately
began the pursuit again. We waited for
them to get near again, then fired in quick
succession and brought down their other
horses, in spite of the bullets which the
Russians rained upon us, and which, fortu-
nately, struck none who were in the sledge.
Baffled in their pursuit, we saw our enemies
standing knee-deep in the snow watching us
as we dashed along.

" Well," remarked Denviers, as we
slackened our speed at last, " we have had
a strange running fight, such as I least of all
expected."

" The sahibs have saved the woman," said
our guide. " Their slave the Arab believes
that even the Great Prophet would approve
of what they have done. The promise to
convey Marie Lovetski to the mujik's hut
will now surely be kept " ; and so it came
about, for the daughter of Lovetski the Lost
lived to find freedom hers on another soil
and under another flag.

Illustrated Interviews.

No. XXIII.— MR. HARRY FURNISS.

' INTERVIEWED l"

T is the proud boast of every
married man, and more par-
ticularly so when his quiver is
fairly full, that he
presides over the hap-
piest home in the land.
But there is a corner of Regent's
Park where stands a house whose
four walls contain an amount of fun
and unadulterated merriment, hap-
piness, and downright pleasure that
would want a lot of beating. The
fact is that Mr. Harry Furniss is
not only a merry man with his
pencil. Humour with him may mean
a very profitable thing — it unquestion
ably does; fun and frolic as depicted
on paper by " Lika Joko " brings in,
as Digby Grant would put it, many
" a little cheque." But I venture
to think that the clever caricaturist
would not have half as many merry
ideas running from the mind to the
pencil if he sold all his humour
outside and forgot to scatter a

goodly proportion of it amongst his quartette
of children.

I had not been in the house five minutes

MY LITTLE MODEL.

572

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

LITTLE GUV — OR, A FIDGETY MODEL

before they made their presence known. I
had not been there a quarter of an hour
before the discovery was made that they
were small but impressive editions of their
father. Have you heard of Harry Furniss's
little model — " My Little Model " ? She is
Dorothy, who sits for all the little girls in
her father's pictures. A clever, bright young
woman of thirteen, with glorious auburn
tresses. For two or three years past she
has not forgotten to write her father a story,
illustrated it herself, and duly presented it
on his birthday. " Buzzy," for that is her
pet name, is retained as a model at

a modest honorarium per sitting. Should
she be indisposed, she must find a substi-
tute ! Then there is Frank, the eldest, home
for his holidays just now from Chelten-
ham ; young Lawrence, who also draws
capitally ; and little Guy, the youngest, who
creeps into the pictures occasionally. Guy
is a very fidgety model. " I have drawn him
in twenty different moves, when trying to bribe
him with a penny to sit ! " said Mr. Furniss.
And it seemed to me — and one had an
excellent opportunity of judging during a
too-quickly-passed day spent at Regent's Park
— that not a small amount of Mr. Furniss's

II L USTRA TED INTER VIE WS.

573

humour was caught from the children. He
has brought them up to live a laughing life,
he ignores the standing-in-the-comer theory,
and believes that a penny discreetly bestowed
on a youngster during a troubled moment
will teach him a better lesson than a shilling's-
worth of stick. It is also evident that the
brightness and jollity of the children are in-
herited, not only from father, but mother as
well ; and it was easy to discern, from the
remarks that fell from the subject of my
interview, that the touches of artistic taste to
be seen about the place were due to the
" best of wives and mothers " — immaculate

iSf*

0L**.

Ufa* &fa*6*>* ^ J

housewife and capital hostess — Mrs. Furniss.
And, as Mr. Furniss himself acknowledges,
half the battle of life is overcome for a hard-
worked professional man by the possession
of a sympathetic and careful wife.

Just run through this budget of letters from
father to children. When I arrived at
Regent's Park — ten minutes before my time,
by-the-bye — Mr. Furniss was out riding, a
very favourite exercise with him. " Buzzy "
and Frank and Lawrence and Guy brought
out their treasured missives. When " Lika
Joko " gets a pen or pencil in his hand he
can't help caricaturing. These juvenile
missives were decorated with
sketches in every corner.
Here is a particularly merry
one. Frank writes from
Cheltenham for some fret-
work patterns. Patterns are
sent by return of post — the
whole family is sent in fret-
work. Mr. Furniss goes away
to Hastings, suffering from
overwork. He has to diet
himself. Then comes a letter
illustrated at the top with a
certain gentleman greatly
reduced in face and figure
through following Dr. Rob-
son Roose's admirable
advice. There are scores of
them — all neatly and care-
fully kept with their envelopes
in scrap-books.

Some few days afterwards
I discovered that Mr. Furniss
delights in " illustrating " his
letters to others besides his
children. My photo was
needed by Mr. Furniss for
the purpose of making a
sketch. I sent him a recent
one. He wanted a "profile"
too. The "profile" was
taken when I was sadly in
need of the application of
the scissors of the tonsorial
artist. I posted the " profile "
with a request that perhaps
Mr. Furniss would kindly
apply his artistic shears and
cut off a little of the surplus
hair. By return comes an
illustrated missive. I am
sitting in a barber's chair,
cloth round neck : the artist
is behind me with the cus-
tomary weapon, and laying

n

<x

J

574

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

CAoJj-

low the locks. The
whole thing probably
only took a minute or
two to do, but it is a
capital little bit of
drawing. It is repro-
duced at the end of
this article.

This quarter of an
hour spent with the
youngsters over their
paternal letters was
not lost. It prepared
me for the man him-
self, it gave me the
true clue to his
character, and when
he rushed into the
house — riding boots
and whip included — it
was just the one the
children had unani-
mously realized for me.
A jolly, hearty, "give
us your hand " sort of
individual, somewhat
below the medium
height, with a face as
merry as one of his
own pages in Punch.
He is restless — he
must be always at it.
He thinks and talks
rapidly : there is no
hesitation about him.
He gets a happy
thought. Out it comes
— unique and original
in its unvarnished
state. He is as good
and thorough a speci-
men of an Englishman
as one would meet —
frank and straight-
spoken, says what he

thinks and thinks what he means. An
Englishman, notwithstanding the fact that he
was born in Ireland, his mother was a
Scotchwoman, and he married a lady of
Welsh descent ! But, then, his father was a
Yorkshireman ! So much for the man — and
much more. Of his talents we will speak
later.

We all sat down to lunch, and the
children simply did for me what I could not
have done for myself. Frank ran his father
on funny stories. Then it all came out.
Mr. Furniss is an excellent actor — had he not
been a caricaturist he must have been a

C*3

comedian. His powers of imitation are un-
limited. He will give you an Irish jarvey one
moment and Henry Irving the next, and the
children led him on. But it all at once
dawned upon Mr. Furniss that it was interfer-
ing with the proper play of knife and fork, so
we dispensed with the mimicry and went on
with the mutton.

" Lika Joko " is suggested at once on
entering the hall. Here are a quartette of
quaint Japanese heads, which their owner
calls his " Fore Fathers ! " His Fellowship
of the Zoo is typified by pictures of various
animals. A fine etching of St. Mark's, at

ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE JFS.

575

Venice, is also noticeable, the only two
portraits being a Rembrandt and Maroni's
" Tailor."

" I always hold that up as the best portrait
ever painted," said Mr. Furniss, as he glances
at Maroni's masterpiece.

In the dining-room Landseer, Herkomer,
Alma Tadema, and Burton Barber are repre-

From a Photo. by]

THE DINING-ROOM.

sented — little Lawrence was the original study
for the child in the latter artist's "Bethgelert."
Fred Barnard's work is here, and some
quaint old original designs on wood by Boyd
Haughton are pointed out as curios. Punch
is to the front, notably in Du Maurier, by
himself, which cost its possessor thirty
guineas ; a portrait group of the staff up the
river, some delicate water-colours by C. H.
Bennett, and a fine bit of work by Mr.
Furniss of the jubilee dinner of the three-
penny comic at the Ship Hotel, Greenwich.
Upstairs the children's portraits, and pictures
likely to please the youngsters, reappear. The
nursery is full of them, though perhaps the
most interesting apartment in this part of the
house is the principal bedroom. It is full of
the original caricatures of M.F.'s and other
notabilities, and the occupant of the bed has
Bradlaugh and the Baron de Worms on
either side of him, whilst from a corner the
piercing eye of Mr. George Lewis is con-
stantly on the watch.

A striking portrait of Mr. F. C. Burnand

recalls to Mr. Furniss the first time he
sketched him.

" I was making a chalk drawing of him," said
the caricaturist. " He sat with his back to me
for half-an-hour writing, and suddenly turned
round and wanted to know if I had finished !
Perceiving a piece of bread for rubbing-out
purposes in my hand, he objected to my

having lunch
there! And
finally, when I
induced him to
turn his head my
way and I finished
the sketch, he
looked at it critic-
ally and cried out,
' Splendid like-
ness, remarkable
features, fine head,
striking forehead,
characteristic eye-
bro'.v:, splendid
likeness ; some-
body I know, but
I can't remember
who ! ' Fncourag-
ing, wasn't it ?

" But I remem-
bered it. Some
years after I gave
a dinner at the
Garrick Club to
the Punch staff
and some friends.
Burnand sat at the head of a long table.
It was understood that there was to be
no speaking. Suddenly I saw the editorial
eyebrows wriggling. I knew what it meant
— Burnand was going to make a speech.
I hurriedly got about a dozen sheets
of note-paper, and tore them in bits. I
jumped up very nervous, produced ' notes ' ;
terrible anxiety on part of diners — suppressed
groans. I spoke, got fearfully muddled, con-
stantly losing notes, etc. ' Art amongst the
Greeks,' I said — notes; 'yes, your sculptors of
Athens were, unquestionably ' — notes again.
' And what of it ? Punch is a- — Punch is a —
well, you all know what Punch is ! ' Then it
began to dawn upon them that this was a little
lark. So I hurriedly threw notes under the
table and suggested that on an occasion like
the present it was our duty to first propose
the health of the Queen ! We did. Then
the Prince of Wales, the Army and Navy, the
Reserve Forces, the Bishops and Magistrates.
All these were replied to, and Burnand didn't
get a chance ! "

[Elliott it: Fry.

576

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

1 ■' i

|| 7 o- — V j

MllFT ' f 1 '

Ji ■' jlj[ r " \,

flSP

■ ..dS«Blfe

From a Photo, by]

THE DRAWING-ROOM.

There are many delightful water-colours
in the drawing-room, bronzes and quaint
Japanese ivories. The first meet of the " Two
Pins Club" at Richmond, June 8th, 1890,
gives excellent back views of Sir Charles
Russell, F. C. Burnand, Frank Lockwood,
Q.C., Linley Sambourne, Chas. Matthews,
Q.C., and the caricaturist himself. The
"Two Pins" is a
riding club named
after Dick Tur-pin
and Johnny Gil-
pin. Works by
Goodall and Row-
landson are here,
a fine Albert Diirer,
and a most in-
genious bit of
painting by a man
who never had a
chance to get to
the front — he has
used his brush with
excellent effect on
the back of an old
band-box. Mary
Anderson has
written on the
back of a photo,
"Better late than
never," for the pic-
ture was a long
time coming; FromaPhou,.o V \

another excellent
example of
photog raphic
work being a
large head of Mr.
Irving as " Bec-
ker,," bearing his
autograph. In a
corner is a queer-
looking wax
model of Daniel
O'Connell ad-
dressing the
crowd, and
amongst a hun-
dred little odds
and ends spring
flowers are peep-
ing out. Mr.
F u r n i s s finds
little time now
to use his paint-
box. The ex-
ample — an early
one, by-the-bye —
he has con-
tributed to this apartment is by no
means prophetic. It is a trifle in water-
colours — a graveyard of a church with count-
less tombstones ! Now, who would associate
the caricaturist with tombstones ?

Passing down a glass corridor — from the
roof of which the grapes hang in great and
luscious clusters in the autumn — you reach

[Elliott <* Fry.

THE STUPIO.

[SUiott A Fry.

ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE J VS.

577

the studio. It is a big, square room. Run
) our eyes round the walls, try to take in its
thousand and one quaint treasures. You
can see humour in every one of them —
merriment oozes out of every single item.
Stand before this almost colossal statue of
Venus. She of the almost faultless waist and
fashion-plate divine rests on a coal-box. Sit
clown on the sofa. It is the stuffed lid of
another receptacle for fuel. Golf is one of the
artist's hobbies, and he invariably plays with
clergymen — excellent thing for the character.
We light our cigars from a capital little match-
stand modelled out of a golf-ball, and the
next instant " Lika Joko " is juggling with
three or four balls. A clever juggler, forsooth.
And the battledore and shuttlecock ? Excel-
lent exercise. After a long spell of work, the
battledore is seized and the shuttlecock
bounces up to the glass roof. It went through
the other day, hence play has been postponed
owing to the numerous engagements of the
local glazier. Fencing foils are in a corner ; a
quaint arrangement of helmets, masks, and
huge weapons a la Waterloo suggests " scalp-
ing trophies." The china is curious — there

From a Photo, by]

SCALPING TROPHIES.

is even an empty ginger jar — picked up in
country places, of a rare and valuable old-
fashioned type. He has the finest collection
of old tinsel pictures of the Richard III. and
Dick Turpin order in the kingdom, and values
an old book full of tinsel patterns of the most
exouisite design and workmanship. Old
glaL pictures are scattered about, " Lord

Nelson's Funeral Car," and Joey Grimaldi
grins at you from the far corner of the room.
All this and much more is characteristic
of the humour of the famous caricaturist.
We look at " Lika Joko's " skits and laugh ;
we take a delight in picking out from his
ingenious pictorial mazes our own particular
politician or favourite actor ; we roar at
" Lika Joko's " comicality, and only know
him as a caricaturist. But there is another
side to this studio picture — Mr. Harry
Furniss's pencil is such that it can make you
weep ; so realistic, indeed, that when in his
early days he was sent to sketch scenes of
distress and misery, they were so terribly real
and dramatic that the paper in question dared
not publish them. No artist appreciates a
" situation " better than he. I looked through
portfolio after portfolio, drawer after drawer
— full of character studies and work of
a serious character done in all parts of
the world. These have never been given
to the public. Should they ever be pub-
lished, Mr. Harry Furniss will at once be
voted as serious and dramatic an artist as he
is an eminently refined yet outrageously
humorous carica-
turist. He is a
great reader — he
once collected first
editions. We begin
to talk seriously,
when he suddenly
closes the portfolio
with a bang, shuts
up once more his
hidden and un-
known talents, and
hastens to inform
you that he is a
member of the
Thirteen Club —
Irving and he were
elected together —
and believes in
helping other
people to salt,
dining thirteen on
the thirteenth, with
thirteen courses,
etc. Always passes
swears by peacocks'

[Elliott <t Fry.

and

under ladders,
feathers.

We stand before the great easel in the
middle of the room — though not much
work is done there. He prefers to work
standing at a desk. He draws all his pictures
very large ; they are studies from life. It
prevents the work from getting cramped.

Vol. v.— 75.

573

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

From a Drawing by ilr. Furniss.

Thj same model has stood for all his prin-
cipal people for the last ten years, and he
has a wardrobe of artistic " props " big
enough to fit out every member of the
House of Commons. He is a perfect busi-
ness man. His ledger is a model book.
Every one of his pictures is numbered.
In this book spaces are ruled off for —
Subject, Publisher, When delivered,
Published, Price, When paid, When
drawing returned, Price of original,
and What came of it. Humour by
no means knocks system out of a
man. Look at the score of pigeon-
holes round the studio. As we are
talking together now his secretary
is " typing off" his illustrated weekly
letter which finds a place in the St.
James's Budget, New York World,
Weekly Scotsman, Yorkshire Weekly
Post, Liverpool Weekly Post, Notting-
hamshire Guardian, South Wales
Daily Neivs, East Anglian Times,
and in Australia, India, the Cape,
etc. He writes children's books
and illustrates them. His impres-
sions of America are in course of
preparation. There is his weekly
Punch work ; he is dodging about
all over the country giving his unique
"Humours of Parliament" entertain-
ment, and he found time to make
some special sketches for this little
article.

We sat down. Tea was brought
in — he believes in two big breakfast
cups every afternoon — and with
" Bogie," the Irish deerhound — so
called owing to his very solemn-
looking countenance — close by, Mr.

Furniss went back as far as he could
possibly remember, to March 26th,
1854. That is the date of his birth-
day.

" I am always taken for an Irish-
man," said Mr. Furniss. "Nothing
of the kind. My father was a
Yorkshireman. He was in Ireland
with my mother, and I believe I
arrived at an unexpected moment.
Possibly my artistic inclinations
came through my mother. Her
father was vEneas Mackenzie, a
well-known literary man of New-
castle-on-Tyne, and proprietor of
several newspapers. He founded
the Newcastle School of Politics,
and Mr. Joseph Cowen — as a boy —
got his first tuition in politics from
sitting at the knee of my grandfather. A
bust of him is in the Mechanics' Institute —
which he founded."

Little Harry was brought up in Wexford.
He remembers being held up in his nurse's
arms to see the Great Eastern pass on its
first voyage, whilst an incident associated
with the marriage of the Prince of Wales is

From a Photo, bj/y

" at WORK."

[Bliolt .C Fry-

ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS.

579

vividly impressed upon his mind. He

was struck on the top of his hat by a

" fizzing devil " made out of moist

powder, which burnt a hole through

it. He says that he would rather have

this recollection on his mind now, than

the " fizzer '' on his head at the time. The

young artist in embryo was a rare young

pugilist at school. He was forced to use his

fists, as friction was strong between the Irish

and English lads at

the school he went to.

But he did well in

athletic sports, and was

never beaten in a

hundred yards race. He

firmly believes that this

early athletic training is

responsible for the rapid

way in which he does

everything to-day — be

it walking or talking,

eating or working, all is

done on the hundred

yards principle — to get

there first.

He was a spoilt boy
— first of all because he
was sent to a girls'
school, but mainly from
a very significant inci-
dent which happened
at the Wesleyan College
School in Dublin — a
collegiate establishment
from which pupils (not
necessarily Wesleyans,
for Mr. Furniss is not of
that sect) passed to
Trinity College — where
he obtained all his
education. He was not
a studious lad. He
found the editing, writ-
ing, illustrating, publish-
ing, and entire bringing-
out of a small journal
he founded far more agreeable to his taste
than Latin verbs and algebraical prob-
lems.

" I was' in knickerbockers at the time,"
he said, "and introduced to the school-
boy public — The Schoolboy's Punch. It
sounds strangely prophetic as I think of
it now. The entire make-up of it was
a la Pu?ich, and it had its cartoon every
week. At that time the Davenport
Cabinet Trick was all the rage, and the
very first cartoon I drew was founded

<CJ\

STUDY OF AN IRISHMAN

on that. Here is the picture : myself —
as a schoolboy — being tied up with ropes
depictive of Greek, Latin, Euclid, and other
cutting and disagreeable items. I am
placed in the cabinet — the school. The
head-master, whom I flattered very much
in the drawing, opens another cabinet
and out steps the young student covered with
glory and scholastic honours thick upon him !
From that moment my school-master spoiled
me. I left school and
started work. I got a
pound for my first draw-
ing. A. M. Sullivan
started a paper in Ire-
land on very similar
lines to Punch. There
was a wave in Ireland
of better class journalism
at this' time which had
never existed before or
since. I slipped in. For
some years I drew on
wood and engraved my
own work. I was given
to understand that all
black and white men
engraved their own
efforts, so I offered my-
self as an apprentice to
an engraver.

"He said: 'Don't
come as an apprentice.
If you will undertake to
look after my office, I'll
teach you the art of
engraving.'"

It meant a hard
struggle for young
Furniss. He was loaded
down with clerical work,
but in his own little
room, when the day's
labours were done, he
would sit up till two
and three in the morn-
ing. There was no
quenching his earnestness. Work then with
him was a real desire. It is so to-day. To
rest is obnoxious to him.

He worked away. The feeling in Ireland
against Englishmen at that time was
very strong. Tom Taylor, then the editor
of Punch, saw some of his sketches in
Dublin, and advised him to go to the
West of Ireland to make studies of
character. He was in Galway, and he had
persuaded a number of Irishmen who were
breaking stones to pause in their work

5 8o

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

and let him sketch them. They consented.
The overseer came up.

" What d'yer mane," he cried, " allowing
this hathen Saxon to draw yer ? "

" I've never been out of Ireland in my
life," said the artist; but the overseer had
seized him, and but for the intervention of
the men, whom he had paid liberally for
the " sitting," he would have thrown him into
the river.

Then a great trouble came. His father
was stricken with blindness. The young
man came to London, and with something
more than the proverbial half-crown in his
pocket. He was nineteen years of age when
he hurried out of Euston Station one morning
and stood for a moment thinking — for he
did not know a soul in the Metropolis. But
he soon found an opportunity.

" My first work was on London Society,
for Florence Marryat," he said ; " then for
the Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic Nezus.
The Illustrated London News employed me.
I did such things as the Boat Race, Eton
and Harrow cricket match, and similar sub-
jects — all from a humorous point of view. I
have had as many as three full pages in one
number. Then came that terrible distress in
the mining districts. I was married that year.
I was sent away to "do " the Black Country,

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from a Photo. b]/\ MR. FURNISS ON " KHOCA.'

and well remember eating the first Christmas
dinner of my married life alone in a Sheffield
hotel.

"Those sketches were never published.
They were too terribly real. The people
dying in rooms with scarcely a stick of
furniture, the children opening the cupboards
and showing them bare, appealed to me,
and my pencil refused to depict anything
else. It was the same kind of thing that
was afterwards made notorious by Sims
and Barnard in " How the Poor Live." I
came back and was selected to do some
electioneering work for the same paper.
This necessitated the putting off of a little
dinner party to some friends, and I wired
one of the invited to that effect. When I
was starting, imagine my surprise to meet a
Graphic artist on the platform, and to hear
that my friend had unwisely given away the
contents of my telegram ! However, we
chummed up. He stayed with friends — I at
an hotel. I sat up all that night working after
attending the meetings. At four o'clock I
heard a knock at the door. A journalist.
I was just about to put into my picture the
large figures. I made him very much at
home, and told him I would give him any
information I knew as to the previous night's
proceedings if he would act as my model.
He did. We worked on
till breakfast time, and we
sat down together. I sent
off my page — it was in a
week before the Graphic.'
It was a good return. I
had started on the Tuesday,
got home on the Thursday,
and never had my boots
off the whole time ! I'd
rather keep my boots on
for a week than disappoint
an editor."
Punch 1

I asked Mr. Furniss if
Tom Taylor helped him to
any considerable extent.
Oh ! dear, no. Tom Taylor
wrote a terrible fist, spattered
the page all over with ink,
and invariably replied on
the back of the letter sent
him. At least, it was so in
Mr. Furniss's case. He
would send sketches to
Punch ; they were acknow-
ledged as "unsuitable.'
They invariably turned up a
week or so later — the idea

ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS.

58i

became editor,'

re-drawn by a member of the staff! He
began to despair. But that first cartoon
in the schoolboy's periodical was always
before him.

" When Mr. Burnand
continued Mr. Furniss,
" I was working on the
Illustrated London
News. He saw one of
the sketches and asked
me to call — the result
was that I have worked
for them ever since. I
started at very small
things ; my first was a
small drawing of
Temple Bar. Then,
when Parliament
opened, Mr. H. W. Lucy
commenced Toby — by-
the-bye, Lucy and I
both joined the Punch
table, the weeklydinner,
together — and I worked
with him. I have special
permission at the
House ; as a matter of
fact, I have the sanc-
tion of the Lord Great
Chamberlain to sketch
anywhere in the pre-
cincts of Westminster.
My right there is an
individual one."

" But supposing, Mr.
Furniss," I said, " they
put a stop to you and
your pencil entering?"

" Fd go into Parlia-
ment ! " came the ready
reply. And, indeed,
he has been approached
on this subject by con-
stituencies two or three
times.

We spoke of some
of the eminent states-
men and others Mr.
Furniss has caricatured.
Mr. John Morley is the
most difficult. He is
not what an artist
would call a black and
white man. You must
suggest the familiar red

tie in your picture and then you have
" caught " him.

" I have seen Mr. Morley look a boy, a
young man, and an old man — and all in an

I'rom a Photo, by] the furniss family. [Elliott it Fry.

hour," said Mr. Furniss. " Mr. Asquith is
difficult, too. But I don't think I have ever
missed him, as there's a Penley look about his
face and a decided low comedian's mouth
that help you immensely. Sir Richard Temple
is the easiest. Many
members have some
characteristic action
which ass'.sts you
materially. For in-
stance, Mr. Joseph Arch
always wipes his hands
down his coat before
shaking hands with
you, whilst Mr.Goschen
delights to play with
his eyeglass when speak-
ing. Lord Randolph
Churchill likes to in-
dulge ina little acrobatic
exercise and balance
himself on one foot,
whilst Mr. Balfour
hangs on persistently
to the lapel of his coat
when talking. All these
little things help to
' mark ' the man for
the caricaturist. I in-
vented Gladstone's
collar and made
Churchill small. Not
because he is small, but
because I think it is
the caricaturist's art not
so much to give an
absolutely correct like-
ness, but rather to
convey the character
and value of the man
through the lines you
draw. Gladstone ! A
wonderful man for the
caricaturist, and one of
the finest. I have sat
and watched the rose
in his coat droop and
fade, his hair become
dishevelled with excite-
ment, and his tie get
round to the back of
his neck."

"And what do the
wives of our estimable
M.P.'s think of all
this?" I hinted.

" Oh ! I get most abusive letters from
both sides. Wives of members write and
ask me not to caricature their husbands.

5»*

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

One lady wrote to me the other day, and
said if I would persist in caricaturing her
husband, would I put him in a more fashion-
able coat ? Now, this particular member
is noted for the old-fashioned cut of the coats
he wears. Another asked me to make the
sharer of her joys and sorrows better looking ;
whilst only last week a lady — the wife of a
particularly well-known M.P. — addressed a
most plaintive letter to me, saying that since
some of the younger members of her family
had contrived to see my pictures they had
become quite rude to their papa !

" Why, members often ask me to caricature
them. One member was very kindly dis-
posed to me, and suggested that I should
keep my eye on him. I did. Yet he cut
me dead when he saw his picture ! It's so
discouraging, don't you know, when you are
so anxious to oblige."

I asked Mr. Furniss if he thought there was
anything suggestive of cruelty in caricature.

" Not in this country," he replied; " in
Spain, Italy, and France — yes. Caricaturists
there score off their cruelty. Listen to this.
One night I was in the House. Mr. Glad-
stone rose to speak. He held his left hand
up and referred to it as ' This old Parlia-
mentary hand.' I noticed a fact — which men
who had sat in that House for years had
never seen. On that left hand Mr. Glad-
stone has only three fingers ! Think of it
— think of what your caricaturist with an
inclination towards cruelty might have
made of that fact, coupled with those
significant words! I ask you again — think
of it!"

He spoke in thorough earnestness. He
told me that he looked forward to the time
when he should consign to the rag-basket
the famous Gladstone collar and cease to
play with Goschen's eye-glass. He is
striving to accomplish something more — he
would do it now, but it isn't marketable.
Mr. Furniss is a sensible man. He carica-
tures to live ; and, if the laughs follow, well,
so much the better.

The afternoon passed rapidly, and the
studio became darker and darker. Venus
on the coal-box looked quite ghostly, and
a lay figure in the far corner was not calcu-
lated to comfort the nervously - inclined
when amongst the " props " of an artist's
studio. " Buzzy " merrily rushed in and
announced dinner, and " Bogie " jumped
up and barked his raptures at the word.
" Bogie " knew it meant scraps. Mrs.
Furniss and the children met us at the
dining-room door. The youngsters' faces

were as solemn as the Court of Queen's
Bench. Little Lawrence looked up at me
very demurely, the others waiting anxiously.

" Please could you tell us what a spiral
staircase is ? " he asked.

A dead silence.

" Oh ! " I answered, anxious to show a
superior knowledge of these peculiarly con-
structed " ups and downs," "It's — it's — it's
one of those twirley-whirley " — here I illus-
trated my meaning by twirling my finger
round and round.

A shout of laughter went up.

If the reader will try this little joke on a
score of people, by the time the twentieth is
arrived at he will then discover why the
happiest quartette of youngsters in the imme-
diate vicinity of Primrose Hill laughed so
gaily.

Then we all went in to dinner. Flow well
the shirt-cuff story went down with the soup.

" Pelligrini," said the artist, "used to
remark somewhat sarcastically to his brother
artists : ' Ah, you fellows are always making
sketches. I carry all mine here — here in my
brain ! ' Pelligrini wore very big cuffs. He
made his sketches on them. Until this came
out we thought his linen always dirty ! "

Then Burnand came on with the beef.

GETS EXCITED.

ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS.

583

" THE ASSASSINATED SCARECKC

The two fellow-workers on Punch — Mr. Bur-
nand and Mr. Furniss — run pretty level in their
ideas. A happy thought is often suggested
to both of them through reading the same para-
graph in a newspaper, and they cross in the
post. We spoke of Punch's Grand Old
Man — JohnTenniel — of clever E. J. Milliken,
whose really wonderful work is yet hut
little known. Mr. Milliken wrote "Childe
Chappie"— and is " Arry." Of Linley Sam-
bourne, whom Mr. Furniss once saw walking
down Bond Street, and had the strange
intuition that he was the artist, connecting
his work, and walk, and bearing together. He
had never seen or spoken to him before.
Charles Keene's name was mentioned. It
was always the hardest matter to get Keene to
make a speech. He far preferred the famous
stump of a pipe to spouting. Mr. Furniss hurt
Keene's feelings once with the happiest and
kindest of compliments. It was at a little
dinner party, and Mr. Furniss linked Keene's
name with that of Robert Hunter — who did
so much to provide open spaces for the
people. He referred to Keene as " the
greatest provider of open spaces ! " Keene
said he was never so grossly insulted — he
never forgave Mr. Furniss. He failed to
see the truly charming inference to be drawn
from this remark.

We went into the drawing-room,
and together ran through the pages
of a huge volume. It contained the
facsimiles of the pictures which com-
prised one of Mr. Furniss's biggest
hits — what was in reality an attack
on the Royal Academy.. His "Artistic
Joke " — a sub-title given to this exhi-
bition by the Times in a long
preliminary notice — created a sensa-
tion six years ago. He attacked the
Royal Academy in a good-natured
way, because he was not himself a
member of that influential body.
But there was a more solid and
serious reason. " I saw how cruel
they were to younger men," he said;
"the long odds against a painter
getting his work exhibited, the indis-
criminate selection of canvases."

This really great effort on the part
of Mr. Furniss — this idea to carica-
ture the style of the eminent artists
of the day — kept him at work for
more than two years. There were
eighty-seven canvases in all. His
friends came and went, but they saw
nothing of the huge canvases hidden
away in his studio. He worked
at such a rate that he became nervous of
himself. He would go to bed at night.
He would wake to find himself cutting the
style of an R.A. to pieces in his studio at
early morn — in a state of semi-somnambulism.
He fired his " Artistic Joke " off, the shot
went home, and the effect was a startler for
many people and in many places. It ad-
vanced Mr. Furniss in the world of art in a
way he never expected, and did not a little
for those he sought to benefit. One of these
" jokes " — and a very dramatic one — is repro-
duced in these pages.

The hour or two passed in the little
drawing-room after dinner was delightful.
We had his unique platform entertainment.
Mr. Furniss was induced by the Birmingham
and Midland Institute to appear on the plat-
form as a lecturer. This was followed by his
lecturing for two seasons all over the country,
but finding that the Institutes made huge
profits out of his efforts, and that his
anecdotes and mimicry were the parts most
relished, he abandoned the role of lecturer
for that of entertainer with " The Humours
of Parliament." As soon as he had crushed
the idea that it was a lecture, people flocked
to hear his anecdotes and to watch his acting,
the result of his first short tour resulting
in a clear profit of over ,£2,000.

5§4

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

DRAWING FROM AN ARTISTIC JOKE.

So it came about that young Frank
closed his foreign stamp book, and "Buzzy"
settled down in a corner by her mother's
side and looked the little model she
is. "Bogie" lay on the hearth-rug.
Suddenly — we were all in " The House."
We heard the young member make his
maiden speech ; we watched the mournful
procession of the Speaker. Mr. Gladstone
appeared upon the scene — he walked the
room, and in a merry sort of way played
with "Buzzy's" long cuds — and took an
intense interest in Frank's collection of
foreign stamps. " Bagie " was evidently
inclined to break out in a loud bark of pre-
sumable applause wnen the Irish member rose
to his legs — the member for Ballyhooly —
who had a question to ask the Chief Secretary
for Ireland regarding an assassinated scare-
crow ! The reply did not satisfy him, and

the Ballyhooly M.P. poured forth such a
torrent of abuse upon the Chief Secretary's
head that " Bogie's " bark came forth in
boisterous tones just as the Speaker called
the Irish representative to order !

"What a hissing there was at one of my
entertainments at Leicester," said the humorist-
caricaturist looking across at me with twink-
ling eyes. " A terrible hissing ! I showed
Mr. Gladstone on the sheet. Immediately it
burst forth like a suddenly alarmed steam-
engine. The audience rose in indignation —
they tried to outdo it with frantic applause,
but in spite of their lusty efforts it continued
for several minutes.

" ' Turn him out — turn him out ! ' they
cried. But we couldn't find the party who
was acting so rudely.

" Imagine my feelings next morning when
I saw in the papers leading articles speaking

ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS.

585

in strong terms of this occurrence, which, one " And did they ever discover this very

of them stated in bold type — ' was a disgrace unseemly person ? " I asked Mr. Furniss

to the people of Leicester.' "

" Bogie " rose from the hearth-rug, wagged
his tail, and made his exit.

" Good night, Buz."

"Good night, Frank."

when we were alone.

" Oh ! I forgot to tell you," he said, " that
it was the hissing of the lime in my magic
lantern ! "

Harry How.

Telegraphic Addrcu, " Llkajoko, London

23, St. EDMUND'S TERRACE,

REGENT'S PARK.

f /

.ON DON, N.W.,

London, n.w.. J?/? ^^ /tyg

'1/ ^ ^l

Vol. v.- -76.

Portraits of Celebrities at Different Times of their Lives.

in the present number. At twenty he had
just come up to London, and was working

From a Photo, by]

I W. Andrews, Dublin.

HARRY FURNISS.

Born 1854.

T ten years old Mr. Furniss was a
pupil at the Wesleyan College
School at Dublin, where he started
and edited The Schoolboy's Punch,
in the manner described in the
extremely interesting interview which appears

AGE 26.
From a Photo, by G. Watkins, Camden Road, JV. W.

for the illustrated papers. At twenty-six he
joined the staff of Punch, with which his
name has ever since been intimately con-
nected.

From a Photo, by]

[W.&D. Downey

PRESENT DAY.

From a Photo by Debenham & Gould.

PORTRAITS OI CELEBRITIES.

587

AGE 17.

From a Photo, by A. Adams, Aberdeen.

AGE 24.
From a Photo, by John Lamb, Aberdeen.

SIR GEORGE REII), RR.S.A.

Born 1842.

I1IR GEORGE REID, P.R.S.A.,
was born in Aberdeen, N.B., in
the year 1842, and when nineteen
years of age commenced his
artistic studies at the " Trustees'
Academy," in the City of Edinburgh, and
shortly afterwards in Utrecht, under Mollin-
ger. In 1870 he quitted the latter place
for Paris, where he continued his studies ;
and for several months in 187 1 com-

pleted his student life with Israels, at The
Hague. He has proved himself a true
artist, and proficient in all departments —
both figure and landscape. Latterly he has
applied himself to portrait painting, in which
he finds few competitors. He has done
much in the way of book illustrating. He
was elected an Associate of the Royal
Scottish Academy in 1870, and a full mem-
ber seven years afterwards, receiving on the
death of Sir W. Fettes Douglas the unani-
mous call of his brethren to occupy the
chair as President.

AGE 36.
From a Photo, by John Lamb, Aberdeen.

PRESENT DAY.

From a Photo, by A. Inolis, Edinburgh.

588

THE STRAAD MAGAZINE.

in that

COLIN HUNTER, A.R.A.

Born 1841.

OLIN HUNTER, A.R.A., was
born in Glasgow, July 16, 1841,
and is the son of John Hunter,
bookseller and postmaster, of
Helensburgh. He was educated
town, and began painting at twenty

AGE 15.
From a Daguerreotype.

years of age, after four years' clerkship. His
education as a painter was derived from
Nature. Mr. Hunter was elected an Associate
of the Royal Acr.demy in January, 1884, and
is also a Member of the Royal Scottish
Water Colour Society.

Br

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AGE 24.

From a Photo, by Ooinius-Davis, Glasgow.

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AGE 32.

From a Pftoto. 6y Frodelle & Marshall, London.

PRESENT DAY

{Photograph.

PORTRAITS OF CELEBRITIES.

589

is also joint-author with Colonel Bloxam of a
" Handbook of Chemistry." Sir Frederick
Abel has been President of the Institute of
Chemistry, the Society of Chemical Industry,
and the Society of Telegraph Engineers and

AGE 20.

From a Drawing by Carl JIartmann.

SIR FREDERICK

AUGUSTUS

ABEL, BART,

K.C.B., D.C.L., F.R.S.

Born 1827.

AGE 50.
From a Photograph.

Electricians. He was appointed Associate
Member of the Ordnance Committee in
1867 ; and is Chemist to the War Department
and likewise Chemical Referee
to the Government. In 1883
he was one of the Royal Com-
missioners on Accidents in
Mines, and was President of
the British Association at the
Leeds meeting, 1890. He was
created C.B. in 1877, Hon.
D.C.L., Oxford, in 1883,
knighted in the same year, and
raised to the rank of Baronet
at the opening of the Imperial
Institute.

IR FREDK.

A. ABEL,
„. Bart., who
Vv^jgyfe has lately

been promi-
nent before the public
in connection with
the recent opening
of the Imperial Insti-
tute, of which he has
been Organizing Secre-
tary from 1887, was
born in London in
1827, and is known
principally in connection with chemistry and explosives.
His published works are : "The Modern History of Gun-
powder," 1866; "Gun Cotton," 1866; "On Explosive
Agents," 1872; " Researches in Explosives," 1875; and
"Electricity Applied to Explosive Purposes," 1884. He

From a Photo, by Maull & Co., London.

AGE 65.
From a Photo, by Barraud, London.

59°

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

LORD KELVIN.

Born 1824.

3ILLIAM THOMSON, LORD
KELVIN, was born at Belfast on
the 26th of June, 1824. His
father was a distinguished mathe-
matician, and was Professor of
Mathematics, first in Belfast, and afterwards
in Glasgow University. At a very early age,
Lord Kelvin showed extraordinary mathe-
matical ability ; and he passed with great
distinction, first through the University of
Glasgow, and then through Cambridge, where

1

If

From a Photo by John Fergus, Largs.

have done good service to
seamen. His electrical instru-
ments are the standards all
over the world. He is President
of the Royal Society and member
of every important scientific
society at home and abroad. In
January, 1892, the Queen con-
ferred upon him his peerage.
He held the Colquhoun Sculls, at
Cambridge, for two years. He
is a sailor at heart and an
enthusiastic yachtsman ; and,
among amateurs, a more keen
lover of music it would be
difficult to find.

he gained the Second Wranglership and the
first Smith's Prize. He became Professor of
Natural Philosophy in the University of
Glasgow in 1846, at the age of twenty-two ;
and he still holds that office. He was one of
the pioneer band who laid the first successful
Atlantic cable, in 1858. In 1866 Her
Majesty conferred the honour of knighthood
on him for his distinguished services to the
science and practice of submarine telegraphy.
Lord Kelvin is the author of many inventions.
His mariner's compass and sounding machine

PRESENT DAY.
From a Fh 'to. by W. tt D. Downey.

PORTRAITS OF CELEBRITIES.

59i

From a Painting,

CARDINAL - ARCH-
BISHOP VAUGHAN.
Born 1832.

IS EMINENCE
HERBERT
VAUGHAN,
D.D., is the
eldest son of
Lieut. -Colonel
of Courtfield,
born at
April 15,
1832, and was educated

the late
Vaughan,
Herefordshire
Gloucester,

AGE 40.

Front a Photo, by M. Gutten
berg, Manchester.

AGE 8.
From a Photo, by R. Tudor Williams,
Monmouth.

at Stonyhurst College,
Lancashire, on the Con-
tinent, and in Rome. On
the death of Bishop Turner,
he was elected Bishop of
Salford, a post which he held
until his recent elevation to
the rank of Cardinal-Arch-
bishop.

AGE 25.

From a Photo, by Jules Giruzet, Brussels.

PRESENT DAY.
From a P.oto. by G. FJtci, Rome.

59 2

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

.

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SEPH JEROME VAUGHAN.
From a Photo, by Bara.

; 2.

JOHN S. VAUGHAN.

From a Photo, by A. Sauvy.

THE I.ATE COLONEL VAUGHAN.

Father of Cardinal Vaughan, Archbishop of Westminsi
From a Photograph.

KENELM VAUGHAN,

From a Photo, by Southwell Bros.

ROGER BEDE VAUGHAN.
From a Photo, by J. H. Newman.

The Father and Brothers of Cardinal-Archbishop Vaughan*

m

XII.— ZIG-ZAG ACCIPITRAL.

The accipitral birds are the eagles, the vultures, the falcons, the owls — all those birds that
bite and tear unhappy mammals as well as birds of more peaceful habits than themselves.
They have all, it will be observed, Roman noses, which may be the reason why the Romans

adopted the eagle as a standard : as also it may not. They have striking characteristics of
their own, and have been found very useful by poets and other people who have to wander
off the main subject to make plain what they mean. The owl is the wiseacre of Nature, the
vulture is a vile harpy, and the eagle is the embodiment of everything great and mighty, and
glorious and free, and swooping and catoptrical. There is very little to say against the eagle,
except that he looks a deal the better a long way off, like an impressionist picture or a
volcano. When the eagle is flying and swooping, or soaring and staring impudently at the
sun, or reproaching an old feather of his own in the arrow that sticks in his chest, or mewing
his mighty youth (a process I never quite understood) — when he is doing noble and poetical
things of this class at an elevation of a great many thousand feet above the sea level he is

<£M

Vol. v.— 77.

594

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

BUNIONS, —

sublime. When you meet him down
below, on his feet, much of the sub-
limity is rubbed off.

There is only one eagle in the world
with whom I can claim anything like
a confidential friendship, although I
know many. His name is Charley.
If, after a chat with Bob the Bactrian,
you will turn your back to the camel-
house and walk past the band-stand
toward the eagles' aviaries, you will

observe that

the first charley.

corner cage is occupied by wedge-tailed eagles — a
most disrespectful name, by-the-bye, I think. There
are various perches, including

a large tree-trunk, for

these birds ; but one

bird, the oldest in the

cage, doesn't use them.

He keeps on the floor

by the bars facing the

place where Suffa Culli

CORNS, — L , . ,

and Jung Perchad stand
to take up passengers, and looks out keenly for cats. That is
Charley. He is all right when you know him, is Charley, and

I have it on the best
authority that there are no
flies on him. A rat on the

straggle has been known to turn up
in this aviary and run the gauntlet of
all the cages — till he reached Charley;
nothing alive and eatable ever got
past him. I have all the esteem and
friendship for Charley that any eagle
has a right to expect ; but I can't
admit the least impressiveness in
his walk. An eagle's
feet are not meant to
walk with, but to
grab things. An
eagle's walk be-
chilblains, or- trays a lament-

able bandy-
leggedness, and his toe-nails click awkwardly against the
ground. This makes him plant his feet gingerly and
lift them quickly, so that worthy old ladies suppose him
to be afflicted with lameness or bunions, an opinion
which disgusts the bird, as you may observe for your-
self ; for you will never find an eagle in these Gardens
submitting himself to be fondled by an old lady visitor.
It is by way of repudiating any suggestion of bunions
that the eagle adopts a raffish, off-hand, chickaleary sort
of roll in the gait, so that altogether, especially as viewed
from behind, a walking eagle has an appearance of per-
petually knocking 'em in the Old Kent Road. On
Charley's next birthday I shall present him, I think,
with a proper pearly suit, with kicksies cut saucy over ikinkss?

t

ZIG-ZAGS AT THE ZOO.

595

A PASSING SNACK.

DINNER AHOY

know least
He has for
next - door
neighbour a
sad old re-
probate —
Cocky, the
big Triton cockatoo — who abuses
him horribly. The fact is, they both
occupy a recess which once Cocky
had all to himself, and now Cocky
bullies the intruder up hill and down
dale ; although little Scops would
gladly go somewhere else if he could,
and takes no notice of Cocky's uncivil
bawlings further than to lift his near
wing apprehensively at each outburst.

the trotters, and an artful fakemrnt down the side,
if the Society will allow me.

There is nothing in the world that pleases an
eagle better at dinner-time than a prime piece of
cat. Charley tells me that, upon the whole, he
prefers a good, plump, mouse-fed tabby ; he adds
that he never yet heard of a tame eagle being kept
at a sausage shop, though he would like a situa-
tion of that sort himself, very much. The stoop
of a free eagle as it takes a living victim is, no
doubt, a fine thing, except for the victim ; but
the grabbing of cut-up food here in captivity is
merely comic. The eagle, with his Whitechapel
lurch, makes for the morsel and takes it in his
stride ; then he stands on it in a manner somehow
suggesting pattens, and pecks away at the hair — if,
luckily, he has secured a furry piece. I am not
intimate with any eagle but Charley, but I am very
friendly with all of them — golden, tawny, white-tailed,
and the rest, with their scowls and their odd winks — all
but one other of the wedge-tailers, who stays for ever at
the top of the tree trunk and looks out westward, trying
to distinguish the cats in the gardens of St. John's Wood ; he
is reserved as well as uppish, and I don't know him to speak to.
I am pretty intimate with many of the owls. The owl I
is a little Scops owl, kept alone in the insect-house.

UNCIVIL BAWLINGS.

Sy6

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

WHAT !

He and I have not been
able to improve our ac-
quaintance greatly,
partly because he is out of
reach, and partly because
Cocky's conversation occupies
most of his timo.

The Zoo owls are a
lamentably scattered
family. Another Scops
owl, with one eye,
lives in the eastern
aviary, in Church's
care. He is a
charming, furious
Vittle ruffian (I am
speaking of the owl,
and not of Church),
and perfectly ready
to peck any living
thing, quite irre-
spective of size.
Where he lost his
eye is a story of his
own, for he was first
met with but one.
He sits on his perch
with a furious cock
of the ears — which
are not ears at all,
but feathers — with
the aspect of being
permanently pre-
pared to repel
boarders ; and the
only thing that could
possibly add to his
fierceness of appearance
would be a patch over the
sight of the demolished
eye ; a little present I would
gladly make myself, if he
would let me.

He lives just underneath a
much less savage little Naked
foot Owl, who doesn't resent
your existence with his beak,

OF ALL THE-

DTD YOU EVER !

THB SCOWLING SCOl'S,

but gazes at you with a
most extreme air of
shocked surprise. He
doesn't attack you bodily for
standing on this earth on
your own feet — he is too much
grieved and scandalized.
He looks at you as a
teetotal lady of the Anti-
Gambling League
would look at her
nephew if he offered
to toss her for
whiskies. He
follows you with
his glare of out-
raged propriety till
you shrink behind
Church and sneak
away, with an in-
describable feeling
of personal de-
pravity previously
unknown. Why
should this phara-
saical little bird
make one feel a
criminal ? As a
matter of fact, he
is nothing but a
raffish fly-by-night
himself ; and his
pious horror is as-
sumed, I believe,
as much to keep
lis eyes wide open and
him awake as to impose
on one.
The owls' cages proper
are away behind the
annas' house, and here you
may study owl nature in
plenty; and you may observe
owls, like people sitting
through a long sermon, affect-
ing various concealments and
excuses for going to sleep in

ZIG-ZAGS AT THE ZOO.

597

the daytime. The milky eagle-owl pretends to be waiting
for a friend who never keeps his appointment. You come
upon him as he is dozing away' quietly ; he sees you just
between his eyelids, and at once stares angrily down the
path as if he were sick of waiting, and the other owl already
half an hour overdue. Of

course there is no owl
coming, so he shakes his
head testily and half shuts
his eyes. If you go away
then, he goes to sleep
again. If you stay, he
presently makes another
pretence of pulling out
his watch and wondering
if that owl is ever coming.
He has practised the trans-
parent deception so long that he does it now mechanically,
and sleeps, I believe, or nearly so, through the whole
process. The oriental owl does it rather differently. He

doesn't open his eyes

MILKY REPOSE.

IS HE COMING t

WHAT A NUISANCE !

when you first wake him
— this in order to give

greater verisimilitude to his pretence of profound medita-
tion ; he wishes you to understand that it is not your
presence that causes him to open his eyes, but the natural
course of his philo-
sophical speculations.
As a pundit, he disdains
to appear to observe
you; so he gazes
solemnly at a vast space
with i: 'hing whatever
for its centre. He sees
you, but he knows you
for a creature that never
a keeper ; a creature beneath

carries raw meat with it, like

the notice of Buho orientalis.

As a song-bird, the owl is not a conspicuous success.

Perhaps he has learned
this in the Zoo, for he
cannot be induced to
perform during visiting

hours. He is a reserved N0T VEI »

person, and exclusive.

If you, as a stranger, attempt to scrape his acquaintance,
he meets you with an indignant stare — confound your im-
pudence ! Nothing in this world can present such a
picture of offended, astounded dignity as an owl. I
often wonder what he said when Noah ordered him
peremptorily into the Ark. As for myself, I should as
soon think of ordering one of the beadles at the Bank.

Many worthy owls, long since passed away as living
things, now exist in their astral forms as pepper-boxes
and tobacco-jars. They probably belonged, in life, to the
same species as a friend of mine here, who exhibits one
of their chief physical features. He sits immovably still,

so far as his body — his jar or pepper-reservoir — is concerned ; indeed, if he is not

disturbed, he sits immovably altogether, and sleeps. When he is disturbed he wakes in

OH, HANG IT I

S9«

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

\iW"

instalments, opening one eye at a time. He fixes you
with his wild, fiery eye, his indignant stare. Start to
walk round him ; the head turns, and the stare follows
you, with no movement whatever of the part containing
the pepper. The head slowly turns and turns, with-
out the smallest indication of stopping anywhere. I
never tempted it farther than once round, but walked
back the other way, for fear of strangling a valuable
bird. Besides, I remembered an owl pepper-box once,

which became loose in the screw through continual turning, so that the

head fell off into your plate, and all the pepper after it.

The biggest owls are the eagle-owls. The eagle-owls here occupy a

similar sort of situa-

t

THE ea<;le-owls retreat.

tion to that of the
hermit in an old tea-
garden. In a secluded
nook behind the
camel-house a brick-
built cave is kept in a
wire cage, which not
only hinders the owls
from escaping, but
prevents them taking
the cave with them if
they do. The cave
is fitted up with the
proper quantity of
weird gloom and
several convenient
perches ; the perches,
however, are indis-
tinct, because the gloom is obvious.
In the midst of it you may see two fiery
eyes, like the fire-balls from a Roman
candle, and nothing else. This is the
most one often has a chance of seeing
here in bright day. Often the eagle-
owls are asleep, and then you do not
even see the fireworks. I know the big
eagle-owl fairly well ; that is cc say, I am
on snarling terms with him. But once he
has settled in his cave he won't come
out, even when I call him Zadkiel.

There is nothing much more grotes-
que than a row of small barn owls,
just awakened from sleep and curious
about the disturber. There is some-

ZIG-ZAGS AT THE ZOO.

599

thing about the odd gaze and
twist of the neck that irresistibly
reminds me of an illustration
in an Old Saxon or Early
English manuscript.

I am not particularly friendly
with any of the vultures. Walk
past their cages with the deter-
mination to ingratiate yourselt
with them. You will change
your mind. There are very few-
birds that I should not like to
keep as pets if I had the room,
but the vulture is the first of them
appearance wouldn't hang him at a

I don't know any kind of vulture whose personal
court of Judge Lynch. The least unpleasant-looking
of the lot is the little Angola
vulture, who is put among the
kites ; and she is bad enough : a
horrible eighteenth-century painted
and powdered old woman ; a
Pompadour of ninety. The large
bearded vulture is not only an
uncompanionable fellow to look
at, but he doesn't behave re-
spectably. It is not respectable

WHO -SAID RATS t

to nurl yourself bodily against anybody
looking over a precipice and unaware
of your presence, so as to break him
up on the rocks below, and dine off
his prime cuts. I have no doubt
that Self — (Self, by-the-bye, keeps
eagles and vultures as well as
camels) — has any amount of
sympathy for his charges, but
who could make a pet of a
turkey-vulture, with its nasty,
raw-looking red head, or of a
cinereous vulture, with its un-
wholesome eyes and its unclean-
looking blue wattle ? No, I am
not over-fond of a vulture. He
is always a dissipated-looking
ruffian, of boiled eye and blotchy
complexion, and you know as
you look at him that he would
prefer to see you dead rather
than alive, so that he might safely
take your eyes by way of an ap-
petizer, and forthwith proceed to
lift away your softer pieces pre-
paratory to strolling under your ribs
like a jackdaw in a cage much too
small. He sits there placid, unwinsome,
and patient ; waiting for you to die. Hut
he has his little vanities. He is tremendously

THE ANGOT f A.

6co

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

proud of His wings — and
they certainly are wings
to astonish. On a warm
day he likes to open them
for coolness, but often he-
makes this a mere excuse
for showing off. He waits
till some easily-impressed
visitor comes along —
not a regular frequenter.

Then he stands up and spreads
his great pinions abroad, and
perhaps turns about, and the
visitor is duly impressed. So the
vulture stands and receives the
admiration, hoping the while
that the visitor has heart disease,
and will drop dead where he

stands. And when the visitor
walks off without dying the old
harpy lets his wings fall open,
ready for somebody else.

The A ' dventures of Sherlock Holmes.

XIX.— THE ADVENTURE OF THE REIGATE SQUIRE.

By A. Conan Doyle.

?1T was some time before the
health of my friend, Mr. Sher-
lock Holmes, recovered from
the strain caused by his im-
mense exertions in the spring
of '87. The whole question of
the Netherland-Sumatra Company and of the
colossal schemes of Baron Maupertins are
too recent in the minds of the public, and
are too intimately concerned with politics
and finance, to be fitting subjects for this
series of sketches. They led, however, in an
indirect fashion to a singular and complex
problem, which gave my friend an opportunity
of demonstrating the value of a fresh weapon
among the many with which he waged his
life-long battle against crime.

On referring to my notes, I see that it was
upon the 14th of April that I received a
telegram from Lyons, which informed me
that Holmes was lying ill in the Hotel
Dulong. Within twenty-four hours I was in
his sick room, and was relieved to find that
there was nothing formidable in his symp-
toms. His iron constitution, however,
had broken down under the strain of an
investigation which had extended over two
months, during which period he had never
worked less than fifteen hours a day, and
had more than once, as he assured me, kept
to his task for fire days at a stretch.
The triumphant issue of his labours could
not save him from reaction after so terrible
an exertion, and at a time when Europe was
ringing with his name, and when his room
was literally ankle-deep with congratulatory
telegrams, I found him a prey to the blackest
depression. Even the knowledge that he
had succeeded where the police of three
countries had failed, and that he had out-
manoeuvred at every point the most accom-
plished swindler in Europe, were insufficient
to rouse him from his nervous prostration.

Three days later we were back in Baker
Street together, but it was evident that my
friend would be much the better for a change,
and the thought of a week of spring-time in
the country was full of attractions to me also.

My old friend Colonel Hayter, who had come
under my professional care in Afghanistan,
had now taken a house near Reigate, in
Surrey, and had frequently asked me to come
down to him upon a visit. On the last occa-
sion he had remarked that if my friend would
only come with me, he would be glad to
extend his hospitality to him also. A little
diplomacy was needed, but when Holmes
understood that the establishment was a
bachelor one, and that he would be allowed
the fullest freedom, he fell in with my plans,
and a week after our return from Lyons we
were under the Colonel's roof. Hayter was
a fine old soldier, who had seen much of the
world, and he soon found, as I had expected,
that Holmes and he had plenty in common.

On the evening of our arrival we were
sitting in the Colonel's gun-room after dinner,
Holmes stretched upon the sofa, while Hayter
and I looked over his little armoury of
fire-arms.

" By the way," said he, suddenly, " I think
I'll take one of these pistols upstairs with me
in case we have an alarm."

"An alarm ! " said I.

" Yes, we've had a scare in this part lately.
Old Acton, who is one of our county
magnates, had his house broken into last
Monday. No great damage done, but the
fellows are still at large."

" No clue ? " asked Holmes, cocking his
eye at the Colonel.

" None as yet. But the affair is a petty
one, one of our little country crimes, which
must seem too small for your attention, Mr.
Holmes, after this great international affair."
Holmes waved away the compliment, though
his smile showed that it had pleased him.

" Was there any feature of interest ? "

" I fancy not. The thieves ransacked the
library and got very little for their pains. The
whole place was turned upside down, drawers
burst open and presses ransacked, with the
result that an odd volume of Pope's ' Homer,'
two plated candlesticks, an ivory letter-weight,
a small oak barometer, and a ball of twine,
are all that have vanished."

Vol. v.- -78.

602

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

" What an extraordinary assortment ! " I
exclaimed.

" Oh, the fellows evidently grabbed hold
of anything they could get."

Holmes grunted from the sofa.

" The county oolice ought to make some-
thing of that," sai. 1 he. "Why, it is surely
obvious that "

But I held up a warning finger.

" Neither, sir. It was William, the coach-
man. Shot through the heart, sir, and never
spoke again."

"Who shot him, then ? "

" The burglar, sir. He was off like a shot
and got clean away. He'd just broke in at
the pantry window when William came on
him and met his end in saving his master's
property."

I HELD UP A WARNING FINGER.

" You are here for a rest, my dear fellow.
For Heaven's sake, don't get started on a
new problem when your nerves are all in
shreds."

Holmes shrugged his shoulders with a
glance of comic resignation towards the
Colonel, and the talk drifted away into less
dangerous channels.

It was destined, however, that all my pro-
fessional caution should be wasted, for next
morning the problem obtruded itself upon
us in such a way that it was impossible to
ignore it, and our country visit took a turn
which neither of us could have anticipated.
We were at breakfast when the Colonel's
butler rushed in with all his propriety shaken
out of him.

" Have you heard the news, sir ? " he
gasped. " At the Cunningham's, sir ! "

" Burglary ! " cried the Colonel, with his
coffee cup in mid air.

" Murder ! "

The Colonel whistled. " By Jove ! " said
he, "who's killed, then? The J. P. or his
son ? "

" What time ? "

" It was last night, sir, somewhere about
twelve."

" Ah, then, we'll step over presently,"
said the Colonel, coolly settling down to his
breakfast again. " It's a baddish business,"
he added, when the butler had gone. " He's
our leading squire about here, is old
Cunningham, and a very decent fellow too.
He'll be cut up over this, for the man has
been in his service for years, and was a good
servant. . It's evidently the same villains who
broke into Acton's."

"And stole that very singular collection?"
said Holmes, thoughtfully.

" Precisely."

" Hum ! It may prove the simplest
matter in the world ; but, all the same, at first
glance this is just a little curious, is it not ?
A gang of burglars acting in the country
might be expected to vary the scene of their
operations, and not to crack two cribs in the
same district within a few days. When you
spoke last night of taking precautions, I
remember that it passed through my mind

ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES.

fi°3

that this was probably the last parish in
England to which the thief or thieves would
be likely to turn their attention ; which shows
that I have still much to learn."

" I fancy it's some local practitioner," said
the Colonel. " In that case, of course,
Acton's and Cunningham's are just the
places he would go for, since they are far the
largest about here."

"And richest?"

" Well, they ought to be ; but they've had
a law-suit for some years which has sucked
the blood out of both of them, I fancy.
Old Acton has some claim on half Cun-
ningham's estate, and the lawyers have been
at it with both hands."

" If it's a local villain, there should not be
much difficulty in running him down," said
Holmes, with a yawn. "All right, Watson,
I don't intend to meddle."

" Inspector Forrester, sir," said the butler,
throwing open the door.

The official, a
s mart, keen-
faced yo u ng
fellow, stepped Jj

into the room.
"Good morning,
Colonel," said
he. "I hope I
don't intrude,
but we hear that
Mr. Holmes, of
Baker Street, is
here."

The Colonel
waved his hand ■' "

towards my
friend, r.nd the
Inspector bowed.

" We thought - 1
that perhaps you
would care to
step across, Mr.
Holmes."

"The Fates i M,
are against you, f ;

Watson," said
he, laugh i ng. "1

" We were chat-
ting about the
matter when you
came in, Inspec-
tor. Perhaps
you can let us

have a few details." As he leaned back in
his chair in the familiar attitude, I knew that
the case was hopeless.

"We had no clue in the Acton affair.

INSPECTOR FORRESTER.

But here we have plenty to go on, and there's
no doubt it is the same party in each case.
The man was seen."
"Ah!"

" Yes, sir. But he was off like a deer after
the shot that killed poor William Kirwan
was fired. Mr. Cunningham saw him from
the bedroom window, and Mr. Alec Cunning-
ham saw him from the back passage. It was
a quarter to twelve when the alarm broke out.
Mr. Cunningham had just got into bed, and
Mister Alec was smoking a pipe in his dress-
ing-gown. They both heard William, the
coachman, calling for help, and Mister Alec
he ran down to see what was the matter. The
back door was open, and as he came to
the foot of the stairs he saw two men
wrestling together outside. One of them
fired a shot, the other dropped, and the
murderer rushed across the garden and over
the hedge. Mr. Cunningham, looking out
of his bedroom window, saw the fellow as he

gained the road,
but lost sight of
him at once.
Mister Alec
stopped to see
if he could help
the dying man,
and so the villain
got clean away.
Beyond the fact
that he was a
m id die-sized
man, and dressed
in some dark
stuff, we have no
personal clue,
but we are
making energetic
inquiries, and if
he is a stranger
we shall soon
find him out."

"What was
this William
doing there? Did
he say anything
before he died ? "
" Not a word.
He lives at the
lodge with his
mother, and as
he was a very
faithful fellow,
we imagine that he walked up to the
house with the intention of seeing that all
was right there. Of course, this Acton
business has put everyone on their guard.

604

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

The robber must have just burst open the
door — the lock has been forced — when
William came upon him."

" Did William say anything to his mother
before going out ? "

" She is very old and deaf, and we can get
no information from her. The shock has
made her half-witted, but I understand that
she was never very bright. There is one
very important circumstance, however. Look
at this ! "

He took a small piece of torn paper from
a note-book and spread it out upon his knee.

" This was found between the finger and
thumb of the dead man. It appears to be a
fragment torn from a larger sheet. You will
observe that the hour mentioned upon it is
the very time at which the poor fellow met his
fate. You see that his murderer might have
torn the rest of the sheet from him or he
might have taken this fragment from the
murderer. It reads almost as though it
was an appointment."

Holmes took up the scrap of paper, a
facsimile of which is here reproduced : —

"Presuming that it is an appointment,"
continued the Inspector, " it is, of course, a
conceivable theory that this William Kirwan,
although he had the reputation of being an
honest man, may have been in league with
the thief He may have met him there, may
even have helped him to break in the door,
and then they may have fallen out between
themselves."

" This writing is of extraordinary interest,"
said Holmes, who had been examining it with
intense concentration. "These are much
deeper waters than I had thought." He
sank his head upon his hands, while the
Inspector smiled at the effect which his case
had had upon the famous London specialist.

" Your last remark," said Holmes, presently,
"as to the possibility of there being an under-
standing between the burglar and the servant,
and this being a note of appointment from
one to the other, is an ingenious and not
entirely an impossible supposition. But this
writing opens up " he sank his head into

his hands again and remained for some
minutes in the deepest thought. When he
raised his face again I was surprised to see
that his cheek was tinged with colour and
his eyes as bright as before his illness. He
sprang to his feet with all his old energy.

"I'll tell you what!" said he. "I should
like to have a quiet little glance into the
details of this case. There is something in
it which fascinates me extremely. If you will
permit me, Colonel, I will leave my friend,
Watson, and you, and I will step round with
the Inspector to test the truth of one or two
little fancies of mine. I will be with you
again in half an hour."

An hour and a half had elapsed before the
Inspector returned alone.

" Mr. Holmes is walking up and down in
the field outside," said he. " He wants us
all four to go up to the house together."

"To Mr. Cunningham's?"

"Yes, sir."

" What for ? "

The Inspector shrugged his shoulders. " I
don't quite know, sir. Between ourselves, I
think Mr. Holmes has not quite got over his
illness yet. He's been behaving very queerly,
and he is very much excited."

" I don't think you need alarm yourself,"
said I. " I have usually found that there
was method in his madness."

" Some folk might say there was mad-
ness in his method," muttered the Inspector.
" But he's all on fire to start, Colonel, so we
had best go out, if you are ready."

We found Holmes pacing up and down in
the field, his chin sunk upon his breast, and
his hands thrust into his trouser pockets.

" The matter grows in interest," said he.
" Watson, your country trip has been a distinct
success. I have had a charming morning."

" You have been up to the scene of the
crime, I understand ? " said the Colonel.

" Yes ; the Inspector and I have made
quite a little reconnaissance together."

"Any success ? "

" Well, we have seen some very interesting
things. I'll tell you what we did as we walk.
First of all we saw the body of this unfortunate
man. He certainly died from a revolver
wound, as reported."

" Had you doubted it, then ? "

" Oh, it is as well to test everything. Our
inspection was not wasted. We then had
an interview with Mr. Cunningham and his
son, who were able to point out the exact
spot where the murrWer had broken through
the garden hedge n his flight. That was of
great interest."

ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES.

605

" Naturally."

" Then we had a look at this poor fellow's
mother. We could get no information from
her, however, as she is very old and feeble."

" And what is the result of your investiga-
tions ? "

" The conviction that the crime is a very
peculiar one. Perhaps our visit now may do
something to make it less obscure. I think
that we are both agreed, Inspector, that the
fragment of paper in the dead man's hand,
bearing, as it does, the very hour of his death
written upon it, is of extreme importance."

" It should give a clue, Mr. Holmes."

"It does give a clue. Whoever wrote that
note was the man who brought William
Kirwan out of his bed at that hour. But
where is the rest of that sheet of paper ? "

" I examined the ground carefully in the
hope of finding it," said the Inspector.

" It was torn out of the dead man's hand.
Why was someone so anxious to get posses-
sion of it? Because it incriminated him.
And what would he do with it? Thrust it
into his pocket most likely, never noticing
that a corner of it had been left in the grip of
the corpse. If we could get the rest of that
sheet, it is obvious that we should have gone
a long way towards solving the mystery."

" Yes, but how can we get at the criminal's
pocket before we catch the criminal ? "

" Well, well, it was worth thinking over.
Then there is another obvious point. The
note was sent to William. The man who
wrote it could not have taken it, otherwise of
course he might have delivered his own
message by word of mouth. Who brought the
note, then ? Or did it come through the post ? "

"I have made inquiries," said the Inspec-
tor. "William received a letter by the after-
noon post yesterday. The envelope was
destroyed by him."

" Excellent ! " cried Holmes, clapping the
Inspector on the back. "You've seen the
postman. It is a pleasure to work with you.
Well, here is the lodge, and if you will come
up, Colonel, I will show you the scene of the
crime."

We passed the pretty cottage where the
murdered man had lived, and walked up an
oak-lined avenue to the fine old Queen Anne
house, which bears the date of Malplaquet
upon the lintel of the door. Holmes and
the Inspector led us round it until we came
to the side gate, which is separated by a
stretch of garden from the hedge which lines
the road. A constable was standing at the
kitchen door.

" Throw the door open, officer," said

Holmes. " Now it was on those stairs that
young Mr. Cunningham stood and saw the
two men struggling just where we are. Old Mr.
Cunningham was at that window — the second
on the left — and he saw the fellow get away
just to the left of that bush. So did the
son. They are both sure of it, on account
of the bush. Then Mister Alec ran out and
knelt beside the wounded man. The ground
is very hard, you see, and there are no marks
to guide us."

As he spoke two men came down the
garden path, from round the angle of the
house. The one was an elderly man, with a
strong, deep-lined, heavy-eyed face ; the other
a dashing young fellow, whose bright, smiling
expression and showy dress were in strange
contrast with the business which had brought
us there.

" Still at it, then ? ' said he to Holmes.
" I thought you Londoners were never at
fault. You don't seem to be so very quick,
after all."

" Ah ! you must give us a little time," said
Holmes, good-humouredly.

" You'll want it," said young Alec Cunning-
ham. " Why, I don't see that we have any
clue at all."

"There's only one," answered the Inspec-
tor. " We thought that if we could only

find Good heavens ! Mr. Holmes, what

is the matter ? "

My poor friend's face had suddenly assumed
the most dreadful expression. His eyes
rolled upwards, his features writhed in agony,
and with a suppressed groan he dropped on
his face upon the ground. Horrified at the
suddenness and severity of the attack, we
carried him into the kitchen, where he lay
back in a large chair and breathed heavily
for some minutes. Finally, with a shame-
faced apology for his weakness, he rose once
more.

" Watson would tell you that I have only
just recovered from a severe illness," he
explained. " I am liable to these sudden
nervous attacks."

" Shall I send you home in my trap ? "
asked old Cunningham.

" Well, since I am here, there is one point
on which I should like to feel sure. We can
very easily verify it."

" What is it ? "

"Well, it seems to me that it is just
possible that the arrival of this poor fellow
William was not before but after the entrance
of the burglar into the house. You appear
to take it for granted that although the door
was forced the robber never got in."

6o6

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

"good heavens! what is the matter?"

"I fancy that is quite obvious," said Mr.
Cunningham, gravely. "Why, my son Alec
had not yet gone to bed, and he would
certainly have heard anyone moving about."

" Where was he sitting ? "

" I was sitting smoking in my dressing-
room."

" Which window is that ? "

"The last on the left, next my father's."

" Both your lamps were lit, of course ? "

" Undoubtedly."

" There are some very singular points
here," said Holmes, smiling. " Is it not
extraordinary that a burglar — and a burglar
who had had some previous experience —
should deliberately break into a house at a
time when he could see from the lights that
two of the family were still afoot ? "

" He must have been a cool hand."

"Well, of course, if the case were not an
odd one we should not have been driven to
ask you for an explanation," said Mister
Alec. "But as to your idea that the man
had robbed the house before William tackled
him, I think it a most absurd notion.
Shouldn't we have found the place dis-
arranged and missed the things which he
had taken ? "

" It depends on what the things
were," said Holmes. "You must
remember that we are dealing with
a burglar who is a very peculiar
fellow, and who appears to work
on lines of his own. Look, for
example, at the queer lot of things
which he took from Acton's —
what was it ? — a ball of string, a
letter-weight, and I don't know
what other odds and ends ! "

" Well, we are quite in your
hands, Mr. Holmes," said old
Cunningham. " Anything which
you or the Inspector may suggest
will most certainly be done."

"In the first place," said
Holmes, " I should like you to
offer a reward — coming from
yourself, for the officials may take
a little time before they would
agree upon the sum, and these
things cannot be done too
promptly. I have jotted down
the form here, if you would not
mind signing it. Fifty pounds
was quite enough, I thought."

" I would willingly give five
hundred," said the J. P., taking
the slip of paper and the pencil
which Holmes handed to him.
"This is not quite correct, however," he
added, glancing over the document.
" I wrote it rather hurriedly."
" You see you begin : ' Whereas, at about
a quarter to one on Tuesday morning, an at-
tempt was made ' — and so on. It was at a
quarter to twelve, as a matter of fact."

I was pained at the mistake, for I knew
how keenly Holmes would feel any slip of
the kind. It was his speciality to be accurate
as to fact, but his recent illness had shaken
him, and this one little incident was enough
to show me that he was still far from being
himself. He was obviously embarrassed for
an instant, while the Inspector raised his eye-
brows and Alec Cunningham burst into a
laugh. The old gentleman corrected the
mistake, however, and handed the paper
back to Holmes.

"Get it printed as soon as possible," he
said. " I think your idea is an excellent one."
Holmes put the slip of paper carefully
away in his pocket-book.

" And now," said he, " it would really be
a good thing that we should all go over the
house together and make certain that this
rather erratic burglar did not, after all, carry
anything away with him."

ADVENTURES OE SHERLOCK HOLMES.

607 *

Before entering. Holmes made an examina-
tion of the door which had been forced. It
was evident that a chisel or strong knife had
been thrust in, and the lock forced back with
it. We could see the marks in the wood
where it had been pushed in.

" You don't use bars, then ? " he asked.

"We have never found it necessary."

" You don't keep a dog ? "
• " Yes ; but he is chained on the other side
of the house."

" When do the servants go to bed ? "

."About ten."

•"I understand that William was usually in
bed also at that hour ? "

"Yes."

" It is singular that on this particular night
he should have been up. Now, I should be
very glad if you would have the kindness to
show us over the house, Mr. Cunningham."

A stone-flagged passage, with the kitchens
branching away from it, led by a wooden
staircase directly to the first floor of the
house. It came out upon the landing
opposite to a second more ornamental stair
which led up from the front hall. Out of
this landing opened the drawing-room and
several bedrooms, including those of Mr.
Cunningham and his son.
Holmes walked slowly, taking
keen note of the architecture
of the house. I could tell
from his expression that he
was on a hot scent, and yet
I could not in the least im-
agine in what direction his
inferences were leading him.

"My good sir," said Mr.
Cunningham, with some im-
patience, " this is surely very
unnecessary. That is my
room at the end of the stairs,
and my son's is the one
beyond it. I leave it to your
judgment whether it was pos-
sible for the thief to have
come up here without dis-
turbing us."

" You must try round and
get on a fresh scent, I fancy,"
said the son, with a rather
malicious smile.

" Still, I must ask you to
humour me a little further.
I should like, for example,
to see how far the windows of
the bedrooms command the
front. This, I understand, is
your son's room " — he pushed

open the door — " and that, I presume, is the
dressing-room in which he sat smoking when
the alarm was given. Where does the window
of that look out to ? " He stepped across
the bedroom, pushed open the door, and
glanced round the other chamber.

" I hope you are satisfied now ? " said Mr.
Cunningham, testily.

"Thank you; I think I have seen all that
I wished."

" Then, if it is really necessary, we can
go into my room."

" If it is not too much trouble."

The J. P. shrugged his shoulders, and led
the way into his own chamber, which was a
plainly furnished and commonplace room.
As we moved across it in the direction of the
window, Holmes fell back until he and I
were the last of the group. Near the foot of
the bed was a small square table, on which
stood a dish of oranges and a carafe of water.
As we passed it, Holmes, to my unutterable
astonishment, leaned over in front of me and
deliberately knocked the whole thing over.
The glass smashed into a thousand pieces,
and the fruit rolled about into every corner
of the room.

" You've done it now, Watson," said he,

© ^

HE DELIBERATED KNOCKED THE WHOLE THING OVER.

6o8

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

coolly. " A pretty mess you've made of the
carpet."

I stooped in some confusion and began to
pick up the fruit, understanding that for some
reason my companion desired me to take the
blame upon myself. The others did the
same, and set the table on its legs again.

" Halloa ! " cried the Inspector, " where's
he got to ? "

Holmes had disappeared.

" Wait here an instant," said young Alec
Cunningham. "The fellow is off his head,
in my opinion. Come with me, father, and
see where he has got to ! "

They rushed out of the room, leaving the
Inspector, the Colonel, and me staring at
each other.

" Ton my word, I am inclined to agree
with Mister Alec," said the official. " It may
be the effect of this illness, but it seems to
me that "

His words were cut short by a sudden
scream of " Help ! Help ! Murder ! " With
a thrill I recognised the voice as that of my
friend. I rushed madly from the room on
to the landing. The cries, which had sunk
down into a hoarse, inarticulate shouting,
came from the room which we had first
visited. I dashed in, and on into the
dressing-room beyond. The two Cunning-
hams were bending over the prostrate figure
of Sherlock Holmes, the
younger clutching his
throat with both hands,
while the elder seemed to
be twisting one of his
wrists. In an instant the
three of us had torn them
away from him, and
Holmes staggered to his
feet, very pale, and evi-
dently greatly exhausted.

"Arrest these men, In-
spector," he gasped.

" On what charge ? "

" That of murdering
their coachman, William
Kirwan ! "

The Inspector stared
about him in bewilder-
ment. "Oh, come now,
Mr. Holmes," said he at last ;
you don't really mean to "

" Tut, man ; look at their faces ! " cried
Holmes, curtly.

Never, certainly, have I seen a plainer
confession of guilt upon human countenances.
The older man seemed numbed and dazed,
with a heavy, sullen expression upon his

strongly-marked face. The son, on the other
hand, had dropped all that jaunty, dashing
style which had characterized him, and the
ferocity of a dangerous wild beast gleamed in
his dark eyes and distorted his handsome
features. The Inspector said nothing, but,
stepping to the door, he blew his whistle.
Two of his constables came at the call.

"I have no alternative, Mr. Cunningham,"
said he. " I trust that this may all prove to
be an absurd mistake ; but you can see

that Ah, would you ? Drop it ! " He

struck out with his hand, and a revolver,
which the younger man was in the act of
cocking, clattered down upon the floor.

BENDING OVER THE PROSTRATE FIGURE OF SHERLOCK HOLMES.

I am sure

" Keep that," said Holmes, quickly putting
his foot upon it. " You will find it useful
at the trial. But this is what we really
wanted." He held up a little crumpled piece
of paper.

" The remainder of the sheet ! " cried the
Inspector.

" Precisely."

ADVENTURES OE SHERLOCK HOLMES.

609

" And where was it ? "

" Where I was sure it must be. I'll make
the whole matter clear to you presently. I
think, Colonel, that you and Watson might
return now, and I will be with you again in
an hour at the furthest. The Inspector and
I must have a word with the prisoners ; but
you will certainly see me back at luncheon
time."

Sherlock Holmes was as good as his word,
for about one o'clock he rejoined us in the
Colonel's smoking-room. He was accom-
panied by a little, elderly gentleman, who was
introduced to me as the Mr. Acton whose
house had been the scene of the original
burglary.

" I wished Mr. Acton to be present while
I demonstrated this small matter to you,"
said Holmes, " for it is natural that he should
take a keen interest in the details. I am
afraid, my dear Colonel, that you must
regret the hour that you took in such a
stormy petrel as I am."

" On the contrary," answered the Colonel,
warmly, " I consider it the greatest privilege
to have been permitted to study your methods
of working. I confess that they quite surpass
my expectations, and that I am utterly unable
tc account for your result. I have not yet
seen the vestige of a clue."

" I am afraid that my explanation may dis-
illusionize you, but it has
always been my habit to
hide none of my methods,
either from my friend
Watson or from anyone
who might take an intelli-
gent interest in them.
But first, as I am rather
shaken by the knocking
■about which I had in
the dressing-room, I think
that I shall help myself
to a dash of your brandy,
Colonel. My strength
has been rather tried of
late."

" I trust you had no
more of those nervous
attacks."

Sherlock Holmes
laughed heartily. " We
will come to that in its
turn," said he. " I will
lay an account of the
case before you in its
due order, showing you
the various points which
guided me in my de-

cision. Pray interrupt me if there is any
inference which is not perfectly clear to you.

" It is of the highest importance in the art
of detection to be able to recognise out of a
number of facts which are incidental and which
vital. Otherwise your energy and attention
must be dissipated instead of being concen-
trated. Now, in this case there was not the
slightest doubt in my mind from the first that
the key of the whole matter must be looked for
in the scrap of paper in the dead man's hand.

" Before going into this I would draw your
attention to the fact that if Alec Cunningham's
narrative was correct, and if the assailant
after shooting William Kirwan had i?istantly
fled, then it obviously could not be he who
tore the paper from the dead man's hand.
But if it was not he, it must have been Alec
Cunningham himself, for by the time that the
old man had descended several servants were
upon the scene. The point is a simple one,
but the Inspector had overlooked it because
he had started with the supposition that these
county magnates had had nothing to do with
the matter. Now, I make a point of never
having any prejudices and of following docilely
wherever fact may lead me, and so in the
very first stage of the investigation I found
myself looking a little askance at the part
which had been played by Mr. Alec
Cunningham.

'THE POINT IS A SIMPLE ONE.

Vol. v.— 79.

6io

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

"And now I made a very careful exam-
ination of the corner of paper which the
Inspector had submitted to us. It was at
once clear to me that it formed part of a
very remarkable document. Here it is. Do
you not now observe something very
suggestive about it ? "

" It has a very irregular look," said the
Colonel.

" My dear sir," cried Holmes, " there
cannot be the least doubt in the world that
it has been written by two persons doing
alternate words. When I draw your attention
to the strong t's of ' at ' and ' to ' and ask
you to compare them with the weak ones of
'quarter' and 'twelve,' you will instantly
recognise the fact. A very brief analysis of
those four words would enable you to say
with the utmost confidence that the 'learn'
and the ' maybe ' are written in the stronger
hand, and the 'what' in the weaker."

" By Jove, it's as clear as day ! " cried the
Colonel. "Why on earth should two men
write a letter in such a fashion ? "

" Obviously the business was a bad one,
and one of the men who distrusted the other
was determined that, whatever was done, each
should have an equal hand in it. Now, of
the two men it is clear that the one who
wrote the ' at ' and ' to ' was the ring-
leader."

" How do you get at that ? "

"We might deduce it from the mere
character of the one hand as compared with
the other. But we have more assured
reasons than that for supposing it. If you
examine this scrap with attention you will
come to the conclusion that the man with
the stronger hand wrote all his words first,
leaving blanks for the other to fill up. These
blanks were not always sufficient, and you
can see that the second man had a squeeze
to fit his ' quarter ' in between the ' at ' and
the ' to,' showing that the latter were already
written. The man who wrote all his words
first is undoubtedly the man who planned
this affair."

" Excellent ! " cried Mr. Acton.

" But very superficial," said Holmes. " We
come now, however, to a point which is of
importance. You may not be aware that the
deduction of a man's age from his writing is
one which has been brought to considerable
accuracy by experts. In normal cases one
can place a man in his true decade with
tolerable confidence. I say normal cases,
because ill-health and physical weakness
reproduce the signs of old age, even when the
invalid is a youth. In this case, looking at

the bold, strong hand of the one, and the
rather broken-backed appearance of the other,
which still retains its legibility, although the
t's have begun to lose their crossings, we can
say that the one was a young man, and the
other was advanced in years without being
positively decrepit."

" Excellent ! " cried Mr. Acton again.

" There is a further point, however, which
is subtler and of greater interest. There is
something in common between these hands.
They belong to men who are blood-relatives.
It may be most obvious to you in the Greek
e's, but to me there are many small points
which indicate the same thing. I have no
doubt at all that a family mannerism can be
traced in these two specimens of writing. I
am only, of course, giving you the leading
results now of my examination of the paper.
There were twenty-three other deductions
which would be of more interest to experts
than to you. They all tended to deepen the
impression upon my mind that the Cunning-
hams, father and son, had written this letter.

" Having got so far, my next step was,
of course, to examine into the details of
the crime and to see how far they would
help us. I went up to the house with
the Inspector, and saw all that was to be
seen. The wound upon the dead man was,
as I was able to determine with absolute
confidence, fired from a revolver at the dis-
tance of something over four yards. There
was no powder-blackening on the clothes.
Evidently, therefore, Alec Cunningham had
lied when he said that the two men were
struggling when the shot was fired. Again,
both father and son agreed as to the place
where the man escaped into the road. At
that point, however, as it happens, there is a
broadish ditch, moist at the bottom. As
there were no indications of boot-marks about
this ditch, I was absolutely sure not only that
the Cunninghams had again lied, but that
there had never been any unknown man upon
the scene at all.

" And now I had to consider the motive
of this singular crime. To get at this I en-
deavoured first of all to solve the reason of
the original burglary at Mr. Acton's. I
understood from something which the Colonel
told us that a law-suit had been going on
between you, Mr. Acton, and the Cunning-
hams. Of course, it instantly occurred to
me that they had broken into your library
with the intention of getting at some docu-
ment which might be of importance in the
case."

" Precisely so," said Mr. Acton ; " there

ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES.

611

THERE WAS N

WDER-BLACKENING ON THE CLOTHES.

can be no possible doubt as to their inten-
tions. I have the clearest claim upon half
their present estate, and if they could have
found a single paper — which, fortunately,
was in the strong box of my solicitors — they
would undoubtedly have crippled our case."

"There you are !" said Holmes, smiling.
" It was a dangerous, reckless attempt in
which I seem to trace the influence of young
Alec. Having found nothing, they tried to
divert suspicion by making it appear to be
an ordinary burglary, to which end they
carried off whatever they could lay their
hands upon. That is all clear enough, but
there was much that was still obscure. What
I w r anted above all was to get the missing
part of that note. I was certain that Alec
had torn it out of the dead man's hand, and
almost certain that he must have thrust it
into the pocket of his dressing-gown. Where
else could he have put it ? The only question
was whether it was still there. It was worth
an effort to find out, and for that object we
all went up to the house.

" The Cunninghams joined us, as you
doubtless remember, outside the kitchen
door. It was, of course, of the very first
importance that they should not be reminded
of the existence of this paper, otherwise they
would naturally destroy it without delay. The
Inspector was about to tell them the import-
ance which we attached to it when, by the
luckiest chance in the world, I tumbled down
in a sort of fit and so changed the conversa-
tion."

"Good hea-
vens ! " cried the
Colonel, laughing.
" Do you mean to
say all our sym-
pathy was wasted
and your fit an
imposture ? "

" Speaking pro-
fessionally, it was
admirably done,"
cried I, looking in
amazement at this
man who was for
ever confounding
me with some new
phase of his astute-
ness.

" It is an art
which is often
useful," said he.
"When I re-
covered I managed
by a device, which
had, perhaps, some little merit of ingenuity,
to get old Cunningham to write the word
' twelve,' so that I might compare it with the
' twelve ' upon the paper."

" Oh, what an ass I have been ! " I
exclaimed.

" I could see that you were commiserating
with me over my weakness," said Holmes,
laughing. " I was sorry to cause you the sym-
pathetic pain which I know that you felt. We
then went upstairs together, and havingentered
the room and seen the dressing-gown hanging
up behind the door, I contrived by upsetting a
table to engage their attention for the moment
and slipped back to examine the pockets.
I had hardly got the paper, however, which
was, as I had expected, in one of them, when
the two Cunninghams were on me, and would,
I verily believe, have murdered me then and
there but for your prompt and friendly aid.
As it is, I feel that young man's grip on my
throat now, and the father has twisted my
wrist round in the effort to get the paper out
of my hand. They saw that I must know all
about it, you see, and the sudden change
from absolute security to complete despair
made them perfectly desperate.

" I had a little talk with old Cunningham
afterwards as to the motive of the crime.
He was tractable enough, though his son was
a perfect demon, ready to blow out his own
or anybody else's brains if he could have got
to his revolver. When Cunningham saw that
the case against him was so strong he
lost all heart, and made a clean breast of

6l2

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

everything. It seems that William had secretly
followed his two masters on the night when
they made their raid upon Mr. Acton's,

" And the note ? " I asked.
Sherlock Holmes placed the subjoined
paper before us : —

3f-y<~~ on/Z^t^WWol \at<^h^ UrU^

and, having thus got them into his
power, proceeded under threats of exposure
to levy blackmail upon them. Mister Alec,
however, was a dangerous man to play games
of that sort with. It was a stroke of positive
genius on his part to see in the burglary
scare, which was convulsing the country side,
an opportunity of plausibly getting rid of the
man whom he feared. William was decoyed
up and shot ; and, had they only got the
whole of the note, and paid a little more
attention to detail in their accessories, it is
very possible that suspicion might never have
been aroused."

" It is very much the sort of thing that I
expected," said he. " Of course, we do not
yet know what the relations may have been
between Alec Cunningham, William Kirwan,
and Annie Morrison. The result shows that
the trap was skilfully baited. I am sure that
you cannot fail to be delighted with the traces
of heredity shown in the p's and in the tails
of the g's. The absence of the i-dots in the
old man's writing is also most characteristic.
Watson, I think our quiet rest in the country
has been a distinct success, and I shall cer-
tainly return, much invigorated, to Baker
Street to-morrow."

Beauties.

From Photos, by Mtssra. Basaano, Old Bond Street.

614

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

From a Photo, by \Y. <£ D. Downey.

From a Photo, by W. <£ D. Downey.

From a Photo, by Messrs. Bassano, Old Bond Street

BE A UTIES.

6i5

From the French of Jose de Campos.

An Episode of the Crimean War.

Approved and Authorized by General Saussier,

Military Commander of Paris.

ICOLAS GAUTHIER, Ser-
geant-Major in the Foreign
Legion, was about twenty-six
years of age. He was strikingly
handsome, with black hair and
moustache and a pale com-
plexion. His dark eyes were perhaps some-
what dreamy and intensely sad, but they had
a certain expression of gentleness and can--
dour which won all hearts.

He was above the medium height, upright
and broad-shouldered, and was altogether
more fitted for a cuirassier than for a foot-
soldier. As, however, he had entered the
army from choice, it was for him to select the
arms he preferred.

He had undoubtedly military tastes, but he
had evidently some family trouble or some
love affair which had made him anxious to
leave Paris and to go to Africa with the Foreign
Legion (which, as everyone knows, is always
the first regiment to be called out in case of
war).

He had been in the garrison at Constantine,
and while there had been a great favourite
with all the ladies, and the men had envied
him.

It could scarcely be wondered at, for he
was so handsome, and then, too, he had such
a martial bearing and such pleasant, attractive
manners.

All the sensation he caused was lost upon
him, for he did not even seem to notice it
himself.

He was a good soldier : subordinate to his
superiors, and always indulgent to the men
under his command, and, consequently, a
great favourite in the Legion.

When Napoleon III. was reviewing the
troops, he noticed Gauthier, who was at that
time only a sub-officer. He made inquiries
about him, and a fortnight later Gauthier was
appointed sergeant-major.

It was evident that some great sorrow was
weighing on him, for when he was free from
his military duties, instead of going out with
his comrades to any places of amusement, he
would go off by himself for long, solitary
walks.

Several times, on seeing him strolling along
far from the walls of the city, the other officers
had warned him of the risk he ran of being
surprised by one of those bands of Arabs who
wander about outside the Algerian cities,

LIE UTENANT GA UTHIER.

6.7

and who take their revenge on any European
who falls into their hands for the yoke that
has been put on to them.

Sergeant Gauthier took very little notice of
these warnings. He loved solitude and
was perfectly fearless. No one knew why he
was so sad. Certainly he had lately lost his
mother, and still wore a badge of crape on
his arm. Of course, this had increased his
melancholy, but it was not the original cause
of it.

The war with Russia had just been
declared. Gauthier, like a great many other
officers and sub-officers, was tired of the
monotony of garrison life, and volunteered to
join the regiments which were to be sent to
the Crimea. The Minister of War dispatched
the Foreign Legion, to the great joy of
Gauthier. His brother officers noticed that he
was almost gay, not at all like his former self.

He soon distinguished himself; was always
foremost in the fight. His courage and
sang-froid won the admiration of all. He
was wounded, but he cared little for that ; and
shortly after he was promoted to the rank of
sub-lieutenant.

Gauthier was very intimate with Lieutenant
Saussier, another hero who had gone through
the " baptism of fire " in Africa, and whose
great valour and integrity have won for him
the high office he now holds.

These two soldiers were of the same metal :
they were able to understand and appreciate
each other, and were almost inseparable.

One day during the siege of Sebastopol,
Lieutenant Saussier said to his friend : —

" Gauthier, may I ask you a question ? "

"Two questions, if you like."

" You won't think it mere curiosity ?"

" Are we not friends, Saussier ? "

"Yes, but perhaps this is a secret "

" I have only one secret in the world, and
as you do not know that and could not even
have an idea of it, there is no fear, so you
can speak out."

" Well, will you tell me what is the cause
of your sadness, I might almost say bitterness?
When we left Africa I thought you had left
it behind you ; but now in Russia it is worse
than ever."'

At this unexpected question Gauthier
started, then trying to smile he answered : —

" It must be a kind of complaint born in
me, and perhaps the change of climate
aggravates it."

" Perhaps so," said Lieutenant Saussier,
slowly, and watching the expression of his
friend's face.

" This cold goes right through me to my
very bones," said Gauthier, shivering.

Saussier quite understood that his friend
meant, " Let us change the subject," but he
continued : —

" May I ask you another question ? "

" You seem to have a few to ask to-day,"
said Gauthier, looking rather annoyed.

" I have often wanted to speak to you, but
have never dared before."

" Well, to-day you don't seem afraid of
running the risk."

" If it vexes you, don't answer me."

" Oh, I don't mind. I have r.ad one ; I
may as well have the next."

"Well, will you tell me why, every time
there is an engagement, you take such pains
to find out the name of the chief who com-
mands the enemy? "

This time Gauthier was visibly annoyed.
He answered, after a few minutes' hesitation,
" Because some day I intend writing the
history of the Crimean War. It is only
natural I should want to know the names of
the commanders on the other side."

" Oh ! of course," said Saussier, feeling
rather disconcerted.

For some minutes the two friends con-
tinued their walk in silence. There was no
sound but the crunching of the snow under
their heavy boots, for it had been snowing
hard in the district of Simferopol, and a
thick white mantle covered the ground.

Lieutenant Saussier looked at Gauthier,
and in spite of his friend's attempt to turn
away his head, Saussier saw that there were
tears in his eyes.

" Forgive me for asking you i " he ex-
claimed. " I had no idea of causing you
pain."

" How do you know you have ? " asked
Gauthier, passing his arm through that of
his friend.

" Don't try and hide it. I can see that,
quite unintentional as it was, I have pained
you with my questions."

" It is nothing, nothing at all ; or rather
your questions brought to mind something in
my past life. It is only natural that- you
should have asked me, and as a proof of my
friendship I will tell you all."

" No, no ! Indeed I do not want you to.
We will not talk about it. I am awfully
sorry to have spoken of it."

" After all, you are my greatest friend.
Why should I not tell you about it ? Perhaps,
too, it might relieve me to speak of my
trouble."

" If it will be any relief to you, tell me;

Vol. v —so.

6i8

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

YOU ARE MY GREATEST FRIEND.

but if not, why, do not let us say any more
about it."

" I would rather tell you. Life is very un-
certain on the battle-field, and I would rather
not die with this secret untold. Perhaps, too,
if you knew it you might be able to help
me."

" If I could help you in any way, you
know you have only to tell me how."

" Well, you shall hear all. You know that,
before leaving Algeria, I went to Paris with a
three months' leave."

" Which you never stayed out, for you were
back again in six weeks."

" What could I do with myself in that
Babylon, where everyone was gay while I
was so wretched ? How could I stand the
sardonic laughter and gaiety around me when
my heart was aching bitterly ? As soon as
my poor mother was buried I was only too
anxious to get from that city of luxury, where
ths artificial lights only blinded and dazzled
me.

" I wanted to get away from the noise
and the vice and the hypocrisy, and go to

the desert and be alone
with Nature and with
reality, where I could
breathe pure, wholesome
air, and not that atmo-
sphere which bewilders
and poisons you. I left
what we call the civilized
world to go to the savages
whom I prefer.

" I gave up society for
solitude, peace for war. I
despise my life and long
for death, but death does
not come at my call."

Gauthier stopped for a
minute, overcome with
emotion.

"You are too sensi-
tive," said Saussier.

"Perhaps so, but I have
had something to bear."

" Is it a love affair,
( ktuthier ? "

"No, no ! I have never
loved anyone, and besides,
I am one of those who
must not, who dare not

love "

" I do not understand.'

" No, I will explain.

My mother, who was

dying of consumption,

brought on by some great

grief that she had always suffered alone, sent

for me to bid me farewell. Three days before

her death I was at her bed-side.

" ' My son,' she said, ' I have sent for you
to tell you something which I feel you ought
to know before my death. I have always
led you to believe that your father was dead.'
" 'And he is not dead. I have felt sure of
that for a long time.'

" ' How could you have guessed it ? '
exclaimed my mother.

" ' By your sadness, and, too, because you
have never taken me to his grave, nor even
spoken of it. My poor mother, did he leave
you ? '

" ' No, no ! Do not blame him ; it was not
his fault that he had to leave us.'

" ' He is in prison, then ; but surely he is
innocent ? '

" ' No, he is quite free.'

" ' How is it, then '

" ' Listen, but do not interrupt me, for I
have not strength for much. The name you
have, Gauthier, was my father's and mine,
but not your father's, Nicolas. My father

LIE UTENANT GA UIHIER.

619

was a wealthy shipbuilder at Havre. He
died in 1825. My mother sold everything,
and then she and I went to Paris to live.

" ' She was ambitious for me and wished
me to marry well. We had plenty of money,
and as that opens most doors she managed
to get introductions and invitations to her
heart's content.

" ' I was nineteen, and people said I was
beautiful. My mother paid great attention
to my toilette, and by mixing in society I
soon lost all traces of having been brought
up in the provinces. There was a young
Russian captain, Prince Nicolai Porthikopoff,
whom I used to meet at different houses.
He belonged to the Czar's Imperial Guard,
and was an attache of the Russian Embassy
in Paris.

" ' He was very handsome, and was as noble
at heart as he was by birth.

" ' He loved me, and I returned his affec-
tion. At the end of six months he came
to my mother and asked for my hand. Our
engagement caused a great stir in Paris, it
scandalized the aristocracy and caused
jealousy in our own circle. Prince Nicolai
cared nothing for the storm that he had
roused.

HE CAME TO My MOTHER AND ASKED FOR MY HAND,

" ' There was so much gossip, and there was
so much scheming to break off our engage-
ment, that the Ambassador himself felt it his
duty to inform the Czar. It appears the
Czar only laughed at it all until the Princess
Porthikopoff, your father's mother, wrote
herself asking for his intervention, and
declaring that she would never give her
consent to our union. The Czar wrote a
letter of advice to the Prince, but as it took
no effect, and the Princess still insisted, the
Czar objected formally to the marriage.
Your father saw that it was hopeless, that
there was no chance whatever of winning the
consent of his mother or of his Sovereign.
He proposed to me a desperate expedient,
and I, young and inexperienced as I was,
and believing that it would be for our mutual
happiness, consented.

" ' We were to be married privately, but, as
your father told me, the marriage would not
be legal, as we could not have the necessary
papers, and should even have to be married
under assumed names, and in another
country. He believed that then, when his
mother saw that the honour of a Porthikopoff
was at stake, she would take steps to have
the ceremony per-
formed again with
the necessary form-
alities. He thought
that she would do
for the honour and
pride of her family
what she would not
do for love of her
son.

" ' I consented to
everything; but, alas !
a month later, seeing
that your father con-
tinued to brave all
authority, the Czar
— recalled him to St.
Petersburg.

"'Your . father
pleaded our cause,
but in vain !
Nicholas I., proud
autocrat as he was,
and the Princess were
both inexorable. Your
father was exasper-
ated, and he gave
vent to his indigna-
tion. The result was
that he was ordered to
start the next day for
Irkontsk, in Siberia

()20

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

He was to be exiled ! Exiled because he
had loved me, because he wished to do his
duty and make me his lawful wife ! My
mother and I went away to Lille, where you
were born.

" ' The Prince, your father, was not allowed
to write or receive letters without sending
them first to the Governor to be read and
approved. I happened to meet with some-
one who was going to Irkoutsk, and begged
him to take a message to your father and to
tell him of your birth. When this man
returned he brought me a letter from your
father, in which he said he was going to try
and make his escape, and that he would
never again set foot in Russia.

" ' Just at this time my mother died. Your
father was not able to put his plan into
execution, and a year later he was allowed to
write to me, but merely to tell me the
conditions on which Nicholas I. offered to
allow his return from exile. The Czar had
chosen a wife for him, and he was to re-
nounce me for ever. Your father added that
he was refusing such terms ; that he would
never break his vow to me, and preferred
exile to what was offered him.

" ' He was right ! ' I exclaimed, proudly,
for I was glad to find that I had no cause to
blush for my father.

" ' It was noble of him ! ' said my mother,
and her eyes filled with tears. ' It was
noble, but how could I accept such a
sacrifice ? I could not ; it would have been
too selfish. There was only one thing to do,
and although in doing it I had to sacrifice
all my womanly pride, my courage held out.
I wrote to your father, telling him to accept
the Czar's offer, as I myself was about to
marry.'

" ' It was not true ? '

" ' No ! No ! It was to save him. I wanted
him to be free, to be happy if possible. As
for me, all was over. He wrote to me,
reproaching me, and it broke my heart. I
did not reply to his letter. I went back to
Paris, where I lived quietly and unknown,
devoting myself entirely to you. . . . Six
months later I heard that he had married a-
Princess according to the will of the Czar,
and that he was appointed captain.'

" ' Is he happy ? '

" ' I have never heard another word about
him, and as he has no idea of my where-
abouts, he could never have made inquiries
about me. Now you know all, you know
the cause of my sadness and the secret of
your birth. You must now judge between
your father and vour mother, and either

pardon or condemn us, for, alas ! my poor
boy, you have no name and no future.'

" My poor mother hid her face in her hands
and sobbed in an agony of grief.

" ' I have nothing to forgive, mother ; but
if you wish me to judge my father and you, I
can only say that you both did your duty and
that your sacrifice was sublime. Society
makes laws at its own pleasure, but in the
sight of God, who surely is over all, your
marriage was valid, and I have nothing to be
ashamed of. On the contrary, you were
both victims, and you suffered through your
loyalty to each other — and your love was
surely truer and more ideal than many which
society recognises.'

" My poor mother could not speak for some
time, her emotion was so great. Later on
she told me where I should find some papers,
which I was to read after her death, and she
added : —

" ' You will also find in the same drawer
two things by which your father would always
recognise you, if you should ever meet him
and if you wished to make yourself known.
I leave it entirely to you to act as you think
best ; but if you ever should see him, tell him
that I was true to him, explain all, and tell
him that I loved him to the last'

" Two days later my poor mother passed
away. I was thus left an orphan and name-
less. I was utterly alone in the world. I
had not a creature to love me, and I knew
that I must never dare to love anyone. Left
to myself, I cursed the whole world and its
prejudices and baseness."

Gauthier covered his face with his hand,
and Saussier, respecting his friend's grief, did
not speak for some time. The two officers
walked on through the snow without noticing
where they were going.

Suddenly Gauthier said, bitterly : " You
understand now the cause of the melancholy
that is always weighing on me ? "

" I do, indeed," replied Saussier.

" The tortures of the Inquisition are noth-
ing to what I endure, when I think of my poor
mother suffering through all those years with-
out a word of consolation from anylivingsoul."

" It must have been terrible ! "

"Then, too, you know now why I always
find out the name of the Russian commander
before every attack ; for by now he must be
at least a General."

" Yes, it is indeed fearful ! "

Sebastopol had been besieged ever since
October 9th, 1854. Marshal Canrobert com-
manded the troops with Lord Raglan,

LIEUTENANT GAUTHIER.

621

AlHiMJi

TELL HIM THAT I LOVED HIM TO THE LAST.

Prince Mentschiskoff and Prince Todleben
resisted the attack bravely.

The sight of the city, which was all in
ruins, exasperated the Russian Commander-
in-Chief, and he ordered a sally, but the
French and the English were well on guard
and repulsed this desperate attempt.

The attack was terrible, and the heroism
on every side sublime.

The most warlike of the besieged troops
rushed against the French, preferring to have
to do with the furia francesca rather than
with the British deliberation and sang-froid.
The combat was sustained and desperate.

Profiting by the confusion amongst the
P'rench troops, caused by the death of their
Commander-in-Chief, the Russians succeeded
in obtaining the first trench. The besiegers,
however, got reinforcements and the struggle
was continued.

Two young officers, who were fighting side
by side, attracted everyone's notice. They
were in the first rank, and they led their
soldiers into the thickest of the fray and cut
down the enemy right and left.

One of them was rather in advance of the
Other, 311 d was encouraging his soldiers to

follow him. Suddenly with
his pistol he took aim at a
Russian commander, who, on
seeing that the enemy was
gaining ground, had spurred
his horse forward and was
calling to his soldiers to
advance. Another horseman,
seeing the danger his chief
was in, rushed before him,
exclaiming : —

" Take care, General Por-
thikopoff ! "

On hearing this the French
officer dropped his murderous
weapon and stood as if para-
lyzed, looking at his enemy.

On receiving the warning
the Prince had drawn out his
pistol and fired at the French
officer. The ball struck him,
and he fell. His friend,
who had just reached him,
and who had also heard the
Russian General's name, drew
his men to the right where
the enemy was strongest,
exclaiming, in desperation :
"Follow me ! Follow me ! "
The Russian soldiers rushed
at the young officer, who had
fallen, and would have killed
him, but, waving them off, he said he must
speak with their General before he died.

The Prince, astonished at the request at
such a moment, consented.

"What is it you have to say, and why did
you not attempt to shoot me ? "
" I could not."
" But what prevented you ? "
" Duty."

" I do not understand."
The young officer drew from his tunic a
letter, a locket, and a small box, and handed
them to the General.

" What is the meaning of this ? " exclaimed
the Prince.

" Look inside the locket."
The Prince opened it and started. " My
portrait and Madeline's ! " Then, opening the
box : " And her engagement ring ! Where
did you get these from ? "
"The letter will explain all."
The Prince opened it, and, after glancing

at it quickly, said : " And you are "

" Nicolas Gauthier."
" And your mother ? "
" She is dead. Her love for you killed
her."

622

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

not
was

my

shall
You

wills
father.
I have

" That is not true, for she married another."

" Never ! She loved you to the last, and
died with your name on her lips. Read the
letter to the end."

Mechanically the General read the letter,
and then kissing the locket passionately : " I
knew, I felt that Madeline was true ! " he
said, and then bending over Gauthier, he
continued : " How did you recognise me,
though ? "

"I heard them call you by your name."

" That was why you would not fire ? "

" Yes. A son could not kill his father,
even though he be his enemy."

" But you al-
lowed a father to
kill his son ? "

" I could
help it. It
fate."

" No, no,
son ! You
not die !
must live ! "

"God
otherwise.
Farewell !
only seen you
for a minute, but
I am satisfied."

Gauthier made
a great effort to
get up, smiled
at the Prince,
and then fell
back dead.

"My boy, my
boy ! " exclaimed
the Prince, in
d e s p er a tion,
stooping over the
dead body of his
son. "Dead,
dead, and killed
by me, his father !
And this is the
work of our Czar !
Oh, cruel fate ! "

The General
remained some
minutes kneeling
by the side of
his son in mute
despair, and then

for the last time he sprang on to his horse
and rushed into the thickest of the fray.

" Prince ! Prince ! what are you doing
there ? " exclaimed a French officer at his
side.

*M>V

" I am seeking death ! I have killed my
son, and I will not survive him "

He had scarcely finished when a ball struck
him and he fell down dead.

" Who can say there is no Providence !
The father has not waited long to join his
son," exclaimed the French officer, as he
rushed on at the head of his men.

For some time the result of the combat
seemed uncertain, but at last the French won
the day, and the Russians had to take refuge
in Sebastopol.

When Marshal Canrobert went over the
battle - field, he
asked where the
young officer was
who belonged to
the Foreign
Legion, and who
had fought so
bravely.

"He fell by
the retrench-
ments," was the
reply.

The Com-
mander-in-Chief
rode over to the
spot named and
ordered the sur-
geon to examine
the young officer
who was lying
on the ground.
It was, however,
too late.

" There was
another officer of
the same Legion
whom I saw fall
there, to the
left," said the
Marshal.

The young
officer was
brought and was'
told that his
friend was dead.

" It is a pity,"
he said to the
Marshal, " for
you have lost a
true soldier."

THE GENERAL REMAINED KNEELING BY THE SIDE OF HIS SON.

" 'What was his name ? ''

" Nicolas Gauthier."

" And yours ? "

" Felix Saussier,"

The Commander-in-Chief ordered the avniv

LIE UTENAN'l ' GA UTHIER.

623

to fall into rank, and then as they pre-
sented arms he took the Cross of the
Legion of Honour which he was wearing
himself and placed it on Lieutenant Saussier's
breast.

" Wear it proudly," he said ; " it is the re-
compense that France accords to her bravest
sons, and you well deserve it."

Then taking another Cross from one^. of
the officers who belonged to the Etat
Major, he placed it on the body of
Gauthier. "You, too, have well earned

it," he said, "and shall take it with you to
your grave."

The troops filed off, after passing in front
of the two officers, the one wounded and the
other dead. Marshal Canrobert himself
raised his sword and saluted the two heroes
(the one, alas ! had died too soon, and the
other was destined to become one of the
bravest Generals of France), and then passed
on deeply moved, but satisfied with the
victory, and ignorant of the drama which had
taken place so near to him.

h*~i,

From Beh.nd the Speakers Chair.

VI.

(viewed by HENRY W. LUCY.)

SIR

WILLIAM

HARCOURT.

SIR WILLIAM HARCOURT

has been so long a familiar figure
in the House of Commons, and
has established so high a reputa-
tion, that it seems odd to speak of him as one
of the successes of the new Session. But
the phrase accurately describes his position.
Circumstances connected with the person-
ality of the Premier have given him
opportunity to show what potentialities as
Leader of the House modestly lurk behind
his massive figure, and the result has been

' MODESTLY LURKING.

eminently satisfactory to his party and his
friends. Sir William's early reputation was
made as a brilliant swordsman of debate,
most effective in attack. The very qualities
that go to make success in that direction
might lead to utter failure on the part of a
Leader of the House.

If one sought for a word that would
describe the leading characteristics of Sir
William Harcourt in Parliament it would be
found in the style aggressive. Perhaps the
most fatal thing a Leader of the House of
Commons could do would be to develop
aggressiveness. The Leader must be a strong
man — should be the strongest man on his
side of the House. But his strength must
be kept in reserve, and if he err on either
sjcje of this particular line, submissiveness

should be his characteristic. The possession
of this quality was the foundation of Mr. W. H.
Smith's remarkable success as Leader. It is
true he could not, had he tried, have varied
his deferential attitude towards the House by
one of sterner mould, and the House enjoys
the situation more keenly if that alternative
be existent. It took Mr. Smith as he was,
and the two got on marvellously well together.

Nothing known of Sir William Harcourt's
Parliamentary manner forbade the apprehen-
sion that, occupying the box-seat, there would
be incessant cracking of the whip. It was
difficult in advance to imagine how he would
be able to resist the opportunity of letting
the lash fall on the back of a restive or a
stubborn hors" The opportunity of saying
a smart thing, at whatever cost, seemed with
him irresistible. If only he had his jest they
might have his estate ; in this case the estate
of his party.

Reflection on an earlier experience of Sir

■ AGGRESSIVE.

William in the seat of the Leader might have
caused these forebodings to cease. Four

FROM BEHIND THE SPEAKER'S . CHAIR.

625

years ago, towards the close of the Session
of 1889, the temporary withdrawal of Mr.
Gladstone from the scene gave him his
chance. It happened that the Government
under the leadership of Mr. Smith, and, it was
understood, on the personal instruction of
Lord Salisbury, were pressing forward the
Tithes Bill. They had an overwhelming,
well-disciplined majority, and being pledged
up to the hilt to carry the Bill, the issue
seemed certain. Through a whole week Sir
William led the numerically-overpowered
Opposition, fighting the Bill at every step.
The hampered Government were determined
to get some- sort of Bill passed, and, hopeless
of achieving
their earliest
intention, fore-
shadow e d
another mea-
sure in a series
of amendments
laid on the table
by the Attorney-
General. The
Opposition were
not disposed to
accept this with
greater fervour
than .the other,
and finally Mr.
Smith an-
nounced a total
withdrawal from
the position.

Nothing was
finer through-
out the brilliant
campaign than
SirWilliam Har-
court's lamenta-
tions" over this
conclusion.
Having inflicted
on a strong

Government the humiliation of defeat upon a
cherished measure, he, in a voice broken with
emotion, held poor W. H. Smith up to the
scorn of all good men as a heartless, depraved
parent, who had abandoned by the wayside a
promising infant.

In the present Session Sir William, as
Deputy Leader, finds himself in a position
different from, and more difficult than, the one
filled in August, 1889. He was then in the
place of the Leader of the Opposition, and
had a natural affinity for the duty of opposing.
In the present Session he has been frequently
and continuously called upon to perform the

duties of Leader of the House, and his
success, though not so brilliantly striking as
in the short, sharp campaign against the
Tithes Bill, has stood upon a broader and
more permanent basis. The House of Com-
mons, as Mr. Goschen learned during the
experiments in Leadership which preceded
his disappearance from the front rank, may
be led, but cannot be driven.

It is curious that two of the most aggressive
controversialists in the House, being tempo-
rarily called . to the Leadership, have shown
themselves profoundly impressed with this
truth. Like Lord Randolph Churchill, when
he led the House, Sir William Harcourt ap-
pears on the Treasury Bench divested
even of his side-arms. Like the
Happy Warrior, his helmet is a hive
for bees. His patience in time of
trial has been pathetic, and, whatever
may be his own feelings on the
subject, the House has been amazed
at his moderation. He has sat silent
on the Treasury Bench by the hour,
with Mr. Arthur Balfour, Mr. Cham-
berlain, Lord Randolph Churchill,
and other old familiar adversaries,
trailing tempting coat-tails before him.
One night this Session, in debate
on Uganda, Mr.
Chamberlain in-
terposed and
delivered a
brilliant, bitter
speech, which
deeply stirred a
crowded House.
It was drawing
to the close of
an important
debate, and Mr.
Chamberlain
sat down at
half-past eleven,
leaving plenty
of time for the Leader of the House to reply.
To an old Parliamentary war-horse the situa-
tion must have been sorely tempting. A party
like to be sent off into the division lobby
with a rattling speech from the Front Bench.
There was ample time for a brisk twenty
minutes' canter, and the crowded and excited
House were evidently in the vein to be shown
sport. But there was nothing at stake on the
division. Though Mr. Chamberlain could not
withstand the opportunity of belabouring his
old friends and colleagues, he did not intend
to oppose the vote for Uganda, which
would receive the hearty support of the Con-

T1IE HAPPY WARRIOR.

626

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

servatives. Half an hour saved from speech-
making would mean thirty minutes appro-
priated to getting forward with other votes in
Committee of Supply. Sir William followed
Mr. Chamberlain, and was welcomed with a
ringing cheer ; members settling themselves
down in anticipated enjoyment of a ratti'.ng
speech. When the applause subsided the
Chancellor of the Exchequer contented him-
self with the observation that there had been
a useful debate, the Committee had heard
some excellent speeches, " and now let us get
the vote."

There wac something touching in the de-
pressed attitude of the right hon. gentleman
as he performed this act of renunciation.
What it cost him will, probably, never be
known. But before progress was reported
at midnight half-a-dozen votes had been taken.
Of the various forms
the ambition takes in

whips, political life the most
inscrutable is that
which leads a man to the Whip's
room. In Parliamentary affairs
the Whip fills a place analogous
to that of a sub-editor on a
newspaper. He has (using the
phrase in a Parliamentary sense)
all the kicks and few of the half-
pence. With the sub-editor, if
anything goes wrong in the
arrangement of the paper he is
held responsible, whilst if any
triumph is achieved, no halo of
•the resultant glory for a moment
lights up the habitual obscurity
■ of his head. It is the same, in
its way, with the Whip. His
work is incessant, and for the
most part is drudgery. His
reward is a possible Peerage, a
Colonial Governorship, a First Commissioner-
ship of Works, a Postmaster-Generalship, or,
as Sir William Dyke found at the close of a
tremendous spell of work, a Privy Councillor-
ship.

Yet it often comes to pass that the fate of
a Ministry and the destiny of the Empire
depend upon the Whip. A bad division,
even though it be plainly due to accidental
circumstances, habitually influences the
course of a Ministry, sometimes giving their
policy a crucial turn, and at least exercising
an important influence on the course of
business in the current Session.

An example of this was furnished early in
the present Session by a division taken on
proposals for a Saturday sitting made neces-

SIR WILLIAM DVK

sary by obstruction. Up to the announce-
ment of the figures it had been obstinately
settled that the Second Reading of the Home
Rule Bill should be moved before Easter.
The Opposition had pleaded and threatened.
Mr. Gladstone stood firm, and only three days
before this momentous Friday had almost
impatiently reiterated his determination to
move the Second Reading of the Bill on
the day appointed when leave was given to
introduce it. The normal majority of forty
reduced to twenty-one worked instant and
magic charm. The falling - off had no
political significance. Everyone knew it
arose from the accidental absence of a
number of the Irish members called home
on local business. But there it was, and on
the following Monday Sir William Harcourt,
on behalf of the Premier, announced that
the Home Rule Bill would not
be taken till after Easter.

For other members of the
Ministry there is occasional sur-
cease from work, and some
opportunity for recreation. For
the Whip there is none. He
begins his labour with the arrival
of the morning post, and keeps
at it till the Speaker has left the
chair, and the principal door-
keeper standing out on the
matting before the doorway cries
aloud : " The usual time ! "

That ceremony is a quaint
relic of far-off days before penny
papers were, and the means of
communicating with members
were circumscribed. It is the
elliptical form of making known
to members that at the next
sitting the Speaker will take the
chair at the usual time. For
ordinary members, even for Ministers, unless
they must be in their place to answer a
question, " the usual time " means whatever
hour best suits their convenience. The
Whip is in his room even before the Speaker
takes the chair, and it is merely a change of
the scene of labour from his office at the
Treasury. He remains till the House is up,
whether the business be brisk or lifeless.

In truth, at times when the House is
reduced almost to a state of coma, the duties
of the Whip become more arduous and
exacting. These are the occasions when
gentle malice loves to bring about a count-
out. If it is a private members' night the
Whips have no responsibility in the matter
of keeping a House, and have even been sus-

FROM BEHIND THE SPEAKERS CHAIR.

627

MR. JAKRETT, DOOK-KEEl'ER.

pected of occasionally conniving in the bene-
ficent plot of dispersing it. But just now
private members' nights stand in the same
relation to the Session as the sententious
traveller found to be the case with snakes in
Iceland. There are none. Every night is a
Government night, and weariness of flesh
and spirit naturally suggests a count-out. The
regular business of the Whip is to see that
there are within call sufficient
members to frustrate the designs
of the casual counter-out.

Mr. Gladstone and

" bobby " other members of

spencer, the Cabinet, on
many dull nights of
this Session, have been cheered
on crossing the lobby by the sight wV*
of Mr. " Bobby " Spencer grace- ^WT|
fully tripping about, note-book
in hand, holding an interminable
succession of members in brief
but animated conversation. He
is not making a book for the
Derby or Goodwood, as one
might suspect. " Do you dine
here to-night? " is his insinuating
inquiry, and till he has listed
more than enough men to " make
a House " in case of need, he
does not feel assured of the
safety of the British Constitution,
and therefore does not rest.

BOBBY SPENCER

This is part of the ordinary work of the
average night. When an important division
is impending, the labour imposed upon the
Whip is Titanic. He, of course, knows every
individual member of his flock. With a
critical division pending he must know more,
ascertaining where he is and, above all, where
he will be on the night of the division. It is
at these crises that the personal character-
istics of the Whip are tested. A successful
Whip should be almost loved, and not a little
feared. He should ever wear the silken
glove, but there should be borne in upon the
consciousness of those with whom he has to
deal that it covers an iron hand.

It happens just now that both political
parties in the House of Commons are happy
in the possession of almost model Whips.
As was said by a shrewd observer, no one
looking at Mr. Marjoribanks or Mr. Akers-
Douglas as they lounge about the Lobby
" would suppose they could say ' Bo ! ' to a
goose." The goose, however, would do well
not to push the experiment of forbearance too
far. All through the last Parliament Mr.
Akers-Douglas held his men together with a
light, firm hand, that was the admiration and
despair of the other side. Mr. Marjoribanks
has, up to this present time of writing,
maintained the highest standard of success
in Whipping.

With a Ministerial majority
standing at a maximum of forty,
it is of the utmost importance
to the Government that there
shall be no sign of falling off.
If the forty were diminished even
by a unit, a storm of cheering
would rise from the Opposition
Benches, and Ministerialists
would be correspondingly de-
pressed. With the exception
named, due to circumstances
entirely beyond the Whip's con-
trol, Mr. Marjoribanks has in all
divisions, big or small, mustered
his maximum majority of forty,
and has usually exceeded it.

That means not only unfailing
assiduity and admirable business
management, but personal popu-
larity on the part of the Whip.
Aside from party considerations,
no Liberal would like to " dis-
oblige Marjoribanks," who is as
popular with the Irish contingent
as he is with the main body of
the British members. He is
fortunate in his colleagues—

MR.
MARJORI-
BANKS.

628

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

MR. MARJORIBANKS.

Mr. Ellis, Mr. Spencer, Mr. Causton, and
Mr." McArthur. The Whip's department
has not always been a strong feature in a
Liberal Administration. In the present
Government it is one of the strongest.

Why Mr. Marjoribanks should be content
to serve as Whip is one of the mysteries
that surround the situation. He does not
want a peerage, since that will come to him
in the ordinary course of nature. He is
one of the personages in political life who
excite the sympathy of Lord Rosebery,
inasmuch as he must be a peer ma/gre lui.
He served a long apprenticeship when the
office of Whip was more than usually thank-
less, his party being in opposition. When
Mr. Gladstone's Ministry was formed, it was
assumed, as a matter of course, that Mr.
Marjoribanks would have found for him
office in other department than that of the
Whip. But Mr. Gladstone, very shrewdly
from the Leader's point of view, felt that no
one would be more useful to the party in
the office vacated by Mr. Arnold Morley
than Mr. Marjoribanks. Mr. Marjoribanks,
naturally disposed to think last of his own
interests and inclinations, did not openly
demur.

The Whip's post, though hard
all-night enough, is much lightened by'
sittings., adoption of the twelve o'clock -

rule. Time was, at no distant
date, when for some months in the Session
Whips were accustomed to go home in broad
daylight. It is true the House at that time
met an hour later in the afternoon, but the

earlier buckling to is a light price to pay for
the certainty that shortly after; midnight all
will be over. Even now the„tsvelve o'clock
rule may be suspended, and this first Session
of the new Parliament has 'shown that all-
night sittings are not yet impossible. But so
unaccustomed is the present House to them,
that when one became necessary on the
Mutiny Bill everyone and everything was
found unprepared. In the old days, when
Mr. Biggar was in his prime, the com-
missariat were always prepared for an all-
night sitting. When, this Session, the House
sat up all night on the Mutiny Bill, the
larder was cleared out in the first hour after
midnight.

It is not generally known how nearly the
valuable life of the Chairman of Ways and
Means was on that occasion sacrificed at the
post of duty. Having lost earlier chances by
remaining in the chair, it was only at four
o'clock in the morning he was rescued from
famine by the daring foraging of Mr. Herbert
Gladstone, who, the House being cleared for
one of the divisions, brought in a .cup of tea
and a poached egg on toast,' which the Chair-
man disposed of at the table. ■

Mr. Mellor is an old Parliamentary cam-
paigner, and remembers several occasions

.MR. MELLOR. ■

when, living injudiciously near the House,
he was brought out of bed to assist in with-
standing obstruction. Being called up one
morning by an imperative request to repair
to the House, he observed a man violently
ringing at the bell of the house of a neigh-
bour, also a member of the House of
Commons. On returning two hours later,
he found the man still there, diligently ring-
ing at the bell.

, "What's the matter?" he asked; "anyone
ill ? "

FROM BEHIND THE SPEAKER'S CHAIR.

629

" PAIRED
FOR THE
NIGHT. ' :

f' No, sir, said the man. " Lord Richard

Grosvenor sent me to bring Mr. down

to the House, and said I was not to come
away without him.''

"Ah, well, you can go off now; the House
is up."

Mr. , it turned out on subsequent

inquiry, had gone down to Brighton with his
family, and the servants left at home did not
think it necessary to answer a bell rung at
this untimely hour.

It was about the same time, in
the Parliament of 1880, that
another messenger from the
Government Whip
went forth in the early morning
in search of a member. He
lived in Queen Anne's Man-
sions, and the messenger ex-
plaining the urgency of his errand,
the night porter conducted him to
the bedroom door of the sleeping
senator. Succeeding in awakening
him, he delivered his message.

" Give my compliments to Lord
Richard Grosvenor,'' said the wife
of the still somnolent M.P. ; "tell
him my husband has gone to
bed, and is paired for the. night."
It is an old tradition,
bare- observed to this day,
headed, though the origin of it
is lost in the obscurity
of the Middle Ages, that a Whip
shall not appear in the Lobby with
his head covered. It is true Mr.
Marjoribanks does not observe
this rule, but he is alone in the
exception. All his predecessors,
as far as I can remember, conformed to the
regulation. In the last Parliament the earliest
intimation of the formation of a new Radical
party was' the appearance . in the Lobby of
Mr. Jacoby without his hat. Inquiry excited
by this phenomenon led to the disclosure that
the Liberal, opposition had broken off into a
new section. There was some doubt as. to,
who was the leader, but none as to the fact
that Mr. Jacoby and Mr. Philip Stanhope
were the Whips. Mr. Stanhope was not
much in evidence. But on the day Mr.
Jacoby accepted the appointment he locked
up his hat and patrolled the Lobby with an
air of sagacity and an appearance of brooding
over State secrets, which at once raised the
new party into a position of importance. ••■ '

Dick Power, most delightful of Irishtnen,
most popular of Whips, made through the
Session regular play with his hat. Anyone

the
winsome

WIGGIN.

familiar with his habits would know how the .
land lay from the Irish quarter. If Mr. Power
appeared hatless in the Lobby, a storm was
brewing, and before the Speaker left the,
chair there would, so to speak, be wigs on
the green. If his genial face beamed from
under his hat as he walked about the Lobby
the weather was set fair, at least for the.
sitting.

One of the duties of the junior
Whips is to keep sentry-go at the
door leading from the Lobby to
the cloak-room, and so out into.
Palace Yard. ■ When a division is expected,
no member may pass out unless
he is paired. That is not the
only way by which escape
from the House may be made.
A member desirous of evading
the scrutiny of the AVhips might
find at least two other ways of
quitting the House. It is, how-
ever, a point of honour to use-
only this means of exit, and no
member under whatsoever pres-
sure would think of skulking
out.

For many nights through long
Sessions, Lord Kensington sat on
the bench to the left of the
doorway, a terror to members
who had pressing private engage-
ments elsewhere, when a division?
was even possible. There is Only
one well-authenticated occasioYi
when a member, being unpaired,
succeeded in getting past Lord
Kensington, and the result was
not encouraging.
One night, Mr. Wiggin (now SirHenry), the
withdrawal of whose genial presence from the
Parliamentary scene is regretted on both,

SKULKING OUT.

630

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

sides of the House, felt wearied with long
attendance on his Parliamentary duties.
There came upon him a weird longing to
stroll out and spend an hour in a neighbour-
ing educational establishment much fre-
quented by members. He looked towards
the doorway, but there was Lord Kensington
steadfast at his post. Glancing again, Mr.
Wiggin thought the Whip was asleep. Casually
strolling by him he found that this was the
case, and with something more than his
usual agility, he passed through the door-
way.

Returning at the end of an hour he found
Lord Kensington still at his post, and more
than usually wide awake.

" You owe me ,£25," said Mr. Wiggin.

" How ? " cried the astonished Whip.

" If," said Mr. Wiggin, producing his un-
encumbered watch-chain and dangling it,
" you hadn't been asleep just now, I wouldn't
have got past you ; if I
hadn't got past you, I
wouldn't have dropped in
at the Aquarium ; and if
I hadn't looked in at the
Aquarium, I shouldn't have
had my watch stolen."

Quod erat demonstran-
dum.

It was stated
at the time, to
the credit of
the provincial
Press, that at
the very
moment Mr. St. John
Brodrick was delivering in
the House of Commons his luminous speech
on the Second Reading of the Home Rule
Bill, his constituents at Guildford, thanks to
the enterprise of the local weekly paper,
were studying its convincing argument,
lingering over the rhythm of its sentences,
echoing the laughter and applause with
which a crowded House punctuated it. I
enjoyed the higher privilege of hearing
the speech delivered, and was probably so
absorbed that I was not conscious of the
crowd on the benches, and do not recollect
the laughter and applause. Indeed, my
memory enshrines rather a feeling of regret
that so painstaking and able an effort should
have met with so chilling a reception, and
that an heir-apparent to a peerage, who
has had the courage to propose a scheme
for the reform of the House of Lords,
should receive such scant attention in the
Commons.

II y a

power el

POWER.

always

Mr. Brodrick, however, got off
his speech, and the local paper
came out with its verbatim report,
a concatenation of circumstances
achieved. In the high tide of

REMARK-
ABLE FEAT
OF A
COUNTRY
PAPER.

not

the Parnell invasion of the House of
Commons, there happened an accident that
excited much merriment. Mr. O'Connor
Power — one of the ablest debaters the early
Irish party brought into the House, a
gentleman who has with equal success given
up to journalism what was meant for the
House of Commons — had prepared a speech
for a current debate. Desirous that his
constituents should be at least on a footing
of equality with an alien House of Commons,
he sent a verbatim copy in advance to the
editor of the local paper, an understanding
being arrived at that it was not to be
published till signal was received from
Westminster that the hon. member was on
his feet. It happened that
Mr. O'Connor Power failed
on that night to catch the
Speaker's eye. Mr.
Richard Power was more
successful, and the local
editor receiving through
the ordinary Press agency
intimation that " Mr.
Power opposed the Bill,"
at once jumped to the
conclusion that this was
the cue for the verbatim
speech. Mr. Power was
speaking ; there was not
the slightest doubt that
Mr. O'Connor Power,
when he did speak, would oppose the Bill.
So the formes were locked, the paper went
to press, and the next morning County
Mayo rang with the unuttered eloquence of
its popular member, and Irishmen observed
with satisfaction how, for once, the sullen
Saxon had had his torpid humour stirred,
being frequently incited to " loud cheers "
and "much laughter."

In this same debate on the
Second Reading of the Home
Rule Bill, where the energy and
enterprise of the provincial
weekly Press was incidentally
illustrated in connection with
Brodrick's speech, there happened
another episode which did not work out
so well. Sir Ellis Ashmead-Bartlett broke
the long silence of years by delivering a
speech in the House of Commons. It was
a great occasion, and naturally evoked

ABSORBED.

SIR ELLIS

ASHMEAD-

liART-

lett's

DILEMMA.

Mr.

FROM BEHIND THE SPEAKER'S CHAIR.

631

supreme effort. It was, in its way, akin to
the wooing of Jacob. For seven years
that eminent diplomatist had worked and
waited for Rachel, and might well rejoice,
even in the possession of Leah, when the
term of probation was over. For nearly
seven years Mr. Ashmead-Bartlett had sat
on the Treasury Bench wrapped in the
silence of a Civil Lord of the Admiralty.
Now his time was come, and he threw
himself into the enjoyment of opportunity
with almost pathetic vigour. It was eleven
o'clock when he rose, and the debate must
needs stand adjourned at midnight. When
twelve o'clock struck, Sir Ellis was still in
the full flow of his turgid eloquence. His
speech was constructed on the principle of,
and (except, perhaps, in the matter cf
necessity) resembled, the long bridge in
Cowper's " Task " —

That with its wearisome but needful length
Bestrides the wintry flood.

The scene and the atmosphere were
sufficiently Arctic to bear out the comparison.
The audience had long since fallen away,
like leaves in wintry weather. In ordinary
circumstances Sir Ellis, an old Parliamentary
Hand, would have wound up his speech, and
so made an end of it, just before the stroke
of midnight gave the signal
for the Speaker's leaving the
chair.

There were, however, two
reasons, the agony of whose
weight must have pressed
sorely on the orator. One was
the recollection of an incident
in his career still talked of in
the busycircles round Sheffield.
One night in yesteryear he was
announced to deliver a speech
at a meeting held in Notting-
ham. " For greater accuracy "
— as the Speaker says, when,
coming back from the House
of Lords on the opening day
of a Session, he reads the
Queen's Speech to hon. mem-
bers who have two hours
earlier studied it in the evening
papers — Mr. Ashmead-Bartlett
had written out his oration
and supplied it to the Sheffield
paper whose recognition of his
status as a statesman merits reward. Pro-
ceedings at the Nottingham meeting were
so protracted, and took such different lines
from those projected, that the orator of
the evening, when his turn came, found the

SIR ELLIS ASHMEAD-BAKTLETT,

night too far advanced for his ordered speech,
which would in other respects have been
beside the mark. He accordingly, impromptu,
delivered quite another speech, probably
better than the one laboriously prepared in
the seclusion of the closet. In the hurry and
excitement of the moment he forgot to warn
the Sheffield editor, with the consequence
that the other speech was printed in full and
formed the groundwork of a laudatory
leading article.

That was one thing that agitated the mind
cf Sir Ellis, and probably gave a profounder
thrill to his denunciation of Mr. Gladstone's
iniquity in the matter of the Home Rule Bill.
Another was that this later speech, with all its
graceful air of ready wit, fervid fancy, and
momentarily inspired argument, was also in
print, and, according to current report, was in
advance widely circulated among a friendly
Press. It turned out to be impossible to
recite it all before the adjournment ; equally
impossible to cut it down. That mighty
engine, the Press, was already, in remote
centres of civilization, throbbing with the
inspiration of his energy, printing off the
speech at so many hundreds an hour. It was
impossible to communicate with the un-
conscious editors and mark the exact point
at which the night's actual
contribution to debate was
arrested. There was only one
thing to be done : that was
boldly to take the fence. So
Sir Ellis went on till twelve
o'clock as if nothing were
happening elsewhere, was
pulled up by the adjournment,
and, turning up bright and
early with the meeting of the
House next day, reeled off the
rest regardless of the gibes of
the enemy, who said some of
the faithful papers had mud-
dled the matter, reporting on
Tuesday morning passages that
were not delivered in the
House of Commons till Tues-
day night.

These accidents
the pity have their comical
of it. aspect. When it
comes to appro-
priating two hours of the time
of a busy Legislature, they also have their
serious side. The House of Commons is a
debating assembly, not a lecture hall, where
prosy papers may be read to sparse audiences.
The House is seen at its best when masters

632

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

of fence follow each other
in swift succession, strik-
ing and parrying, the
centre of an excited ring.
A prevalence of the grow-
ing custom of reading
laboriously - prepared
papers will speedily bring
it down to the level of
the Congress meeting at
Washington. There the
practice has reached its
natural and happy con-
clusion, inasmuch as
members having prepared
their papers are not
obliged to read them.
They hand them in to the
printer, and, at a cost to
the nation willingly borne
in view of compensating
circumstances, they are
printed at length in
Globe.

Perhaps when we have our official report
of debates in the House of Commons this
also will follow. It is easy to imagine with
what eagerness the House would welcome
any alternative that should deliver it from the
necessity, not of listening to these musty
harangues — that, to do it justice, it never
suffers — but of giving up an appreciable
portion of its precious time to the gratification
of ponderous, implacable, personal vanity.

There is one gleam of light
flickering about this intrinsically
melancholy topic in connection
with the name of Thackeray.' I
have read somewhere that it was a kindred

EELIN-G IT OFF.

the Congressional

THACKERAY
ON THE

SUBJECT.

calamity of a public
speaker which led to
Thackeray's first appear-
ance in print. At a time
when the century was
young, and the author of
"Vanity Fair" was a lad
at Charterhouse, Richard
Lalor Sheil, the Irish
lawyer and orator, had
promised to deliver a
speech to a public meeting
assembled on Penenden
Heath. In those days
there were no staffs of
special reporters, no tele-
graphs, nor anything less
costly than post-chaises
wherewith to establish
rapid communication
between country platforms
and London newspaper
offices. Sheil, rising to the height of the
occasion, wrote out his speech, and, before
leaving town, sent copies to the leading
journals, in which it, on the following morn-
ing, duly appeared.

Alack ! when the orator reached the Heath
he found the platform in possession of the
police, who prohibited the meeting and would
have none of the speech. The incident was
much talked of, and the boy Thackeray set
to" and wrote in verse a parody on the printed
but' unspoken oration. Here is the last verse,
as I rem'ember it : —

"What though these heretics heard me not ?"
Quoth he to his friend Canonical ;

" My speech is safe in the Times, I wot,
And eke in the Morning Chronicle."

[The original drawings of the illustrations in this Magazine arc always on view
Art Gallery at these office's, which is open to the public without charge.]

and on sale, in the

A Work of Accusation.

By Harry How.

UICIDE whilst in a state of
temporary insanity."

Such was the verdict of
the coroner's jury, and they
could scarcely have declared
anything else— there was
not a tittle of evidence implicating another
as the perpetrator of the deed. The
deceased wai found lying in his studio at the
foot of his easel, shot through the heart. The
revolver — a six-chambered one — was tightly
gripped in his hand. Four out of the six
chambers remained undischarged. It must
have been suicide, simple and premeditated !
The inquiry into the death of the deceased
revealed only one spark of anything approach-
ing sensationalism. It was the evidence of
the housekeeper — an old lady of distinctly
nervous temperament — who wept bitterly.
Previous to the sad occurrence she had heard
the firing of a pistol some five or six times
during a period of two days. On the first
occasion she had hurried to the studio, and
the alarmed state of her feelings was sufficient
to cause her to overlook the formality of
giving the customary tap at
the door previous to enter-
ing. She entered the room,
only to find the deceased
artist holding a pistol — the
one produced — and looking
at its barrel, still smoking,
earnestly. He burst into a
hearty laugh when he saw
her, and told her not to be
frightened.

" It is nothing, Mrs.
Thompson," he said, "and
should you hear the firing
again, do not be alarmed.
Don't be frightened."

So the firing was frequent,
and though it played pitifully
with the old housekeeper's
nerves and shook her seventy-
year-old bones considerably,
she quietly submitted to it
and "hoped it was all right."
I knew Godfrey Hunting-
don well. He often chatted
over his pictures with me.

As a medical man and a student somewhat
beyond the range of physic and prescriptions,
the pros and cons of an idea to be eventually
carried to the canvas gave rise to many
interesting and discussable points. I liked
the man — he was so frank and true and
positively simple in his unassuming manner.
Poor fellow ! He never dreamt for a moment
that he was a genius, but what he did not
know the public were quick to recognise.
Every picture from his brush was watched
and waited for — a canvas from him meant a
vivid, striking, often sensational episode,
which seemed to live. I have some of his
work in my dining-room now. I often look at
his figures. They are more human than any-
thing I have seen by any other modern painter.
They seem possessed of breath and beating

DON T BE FRIGHTENED.

Vol. V.--82.

634

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

hearts of their own, with tongues that want to
speak, and eyes that reveal a thinking brain.
The trees in his landscapes appear to be gently
shaken by the breeze fromacrossthe moorland,
the clouds only need touching by the breath
of the firmament to lazily move across the face
of the blue sky. He waf indeed a genius.

It was always an open question in the
minds of the public and the judgment of
the critics as to who excelled the other —
Godfrey Huntingdon or Wilfred Colensoe.
They both belonged to the same school of
ideas. Their works were equally impressive,
their figure and portrait painting particularly
so, and the judges said it would be a lifelong
race between them for supremacy with the
brush. Huntingdon's sad death was a terrible
blow to the artistic world. I went to his funeral.

He had not forgotten me. He left me all
his studies. There were several hundreds of
them. Many were familiar to me, for he had
made them whilst we were smoking a pipe
together, as I pointed
out to him the neces-
sary laws of science
he must needs regard
in order to insure ac-
curacy in his work.
The studies made
quite a number of
huge bundles, and in
the evening I would
delight in sorting
them through. It
was a long task, for I
found something to
admire and think
over in every single
one of them.

A fortnight had
passed away since
they first came into
my possession. I had
only another parcel
to go through, and I
should be finished.
I was quietly sitting
in my chair with my
legs stretched out on
another chair, as is
my custom — I find it
remarkably restful —
and lighting up my
brier I cut the string
of the last bundle.
Slowly, one by one, I
lifted up those pieces
of brown paper.
They were still ob-

jects of reverence to me. Here was the
head of a child, a sweetly pretty child, and
next to it a study of a dissipated character, the
face of a man fast losing every working power
of his brain and body by liquor. I realized
the genius of my dead friend more and more.
I had gone through quite a score of
these play studies, when my hand stretched
out for another from the pile by my side.
I turned the piece of paper round and
round, and it was some time before I grasped
what the subject was intended for. It ap-
peared to be a piece of round tubing from
which smoke was protruding. The next half-
dozen studies were of a similar character.
In one the smoke was very small, just a thin
streak ; in another it was a full volume, as
though to represent the after effect of the
discharge of a bullet from a revolver. I
looked again. The chalk drawing of the
tubing was evidently intended for the barrel
of a pistol ! Huntingdon always put the
date on every study he made, and I found
my hand trembling as I turned the paper
over. Great heavens — ioth October, 1872 —
the day before his death ! Another paper
bore the same date, and the others had the
date of the previous day — the 9th. Was his
death, then, the result of an accident and not
a suicide after all? Here was the simple
explanation of it so far — here was the reason
for the several shots which
the old housekeeper had
heard fired. He had dis-
charged the revolver at these
times in order to
watch the effect and
immediately place

SLOWLY I LIFTED UT THOSE PIECES OF DKOWN I'Al'bK.

A WORK OF ACCUSATION.

r >35

his impressions on the pieces of paper I now
held in my hand. My knowledge of Godfrey
Huntingdon — both medically and fraternally
— told me that, at the time of his death,
there was positively nothing on his mind to
cause such an act, and I now began reason-
ing the whole within myself once again, as I
had done many times since the occurrence.

" It's a mystery — a terrible mystery ! " I ex-
claimed, jumping up and commencing to pace
the room. I walked that room for over an
hour, and was only aroused from my reverie
by the announcement of a servant that supper
was served. I ate my meal in silence, and
the deliberate mouthfuls I took, and my more
than ordinarily methodical manner of eating,
must have told my wife that to disturb my
present inward argument would have been
disastrous to the immediate prospects of
domestic harmony. I had come to a con-
clusion. There is no-
thing like science and
its accompanying occu-
pations for balancing a
man's brain. A game
of chess is recreative
concentration. So the
study of science was

whilst physic

profession.

research and
the weighing of Nature's
problems had steadied
my thoughts and cooled
my actions. It was a
settled thing with me
that poor Huntingdon
had been murdered. By
whom ? Scientific in-
vestigation had trans- '
formed me into a cal-
culating individual.
Every action, to me,
could be proved as a
proposition in Euclid
or an algebraical pro-
blem. I therefore
said nothing about my startling discovery,
and decided to wait the possibility of a
further suggestion coming in my way, and
"proving it."

I suppose it was the deep interest I took
in all matters concerning art which brought
so many artist-patients to my consulting room.
Six months had passed since the fatal nth
October, and the public were loudly express-
ing their approval of a marvellously
impressive bit of painting by Wilfred Colensoe,
which was the feature — and very justly so -

of one of the early spring exhibitions. It
was the picture of a duel — a very realistic
canvas indeed. The young man — lying
bleeding on the ground — almost told the
story of the attempted avenge of an action
towards someone dear to him on the part
of an elderly roue, whose still-smoking revolver
was in his hand. Colensoe came to see me
one morning. He was a remarkably hand-
some man, classically featured, with hair
picturesquely scattered with streaks of silver.

" Done up, eh ? " I said to him.

" Done up is the word," he answered.

" You've been doing too much," I said,
looking into his grey eyes as I held his hand
a moment. " You must cease work for a

with me,
was my
Scientific

YOU VE HEEN DOING TOO MUCH, I SAID.

time. Get away from your
easel, go abroad, and for-
get to take your brushes
with you. Go anywhere,
a hundred miles from a
retail colourman's."

" My dear doctor," he
answered, "your prescrip-
tion is too strong. You
forget I am an artist. It
is like taking a man with
a dying thirst to a fountain of water and
telling him he mustn't drink. I can't leave
my work."

" When I tell you that it is either a case
of your leaving your work or your work
leaving you, my remark may not be very
original, but it is undeniably true. Do you
sleep well ? "

" I can't say," was his reply. " When I
fall asleep at night I never wake until my
hour for rising. But I am more tired in the
morning than when I turned in over-night."

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

" Quite so. Do you dream at all ? "

"Yes, I dream."

" Feel sleepy now — eh ? "

" Doctor, 1 could go to bed for a week,"
he replied.

"Again, I tell you — overwork," I said,
with strong deliberation. " Now I'll make
you a proposal, which I can couple most
heartily with the name of Mrs. Gratton.
Come away with us. We are going to Heme
Bay for a few weeks. I have taken a house
there. Most invigorating place. You want
no medicine, you won't leave your work
alone, I won't be hard in my treatment of
your case. Bring your tools with you. I
will prescribe so much colour for you during
the day — your paints and brushes may
become converted into agreeable physic, but
— they must be taken at periodical times.
What do you say ? "

Colensoe consented — gratefully ac-
cepted my offer, stayed to lunch, and my
wife took care to let him feel that the
invitation was one of combined cordiality
from both of us. I was a great admirer
of Colensoe's work, and therefore took
a deep interest in the worker. In a
week's time we were at Heme Bay. A
room — with a good light — was appor-
tioned off as a small studio for Colensoe.
A week passed by. Colensoe obeyed
my instructions to the letter. I limited
his working hours, and he began him-
self to be thankful when the periodical
times for laying aside his brush came
round. I noticed this, and lessened
the hours of painting more, thinking
that by degrees he would soon put his
palette away completely and take the
undisturbed rest he needed for a time
to restore him thoroughly.

About a fortnight after our arrival 1
was sitting alone in the dining-room.
My wife and visitor had retired an hour
ago. It was a glorious night. I turned
out the gas, walked to the window, and
drew up the blinds. The sea was spark-
ling with gems thrown out by the moon-
beams. The beauty of the night seemed
to heighten the stillness of the surround-
ings. Although it wanted but a few
minutes to midnight I determined to
walk out to the cliffs — a couple of hun-
dred yards from the house — and view
the moonlit scenery to greater advantage.
I turned from the window, opened the
door, and, just as I was turning into
the passage, I heard a footstep. It was a
steady, deliberate step; there was nothing

uncertain or hesitating about it. I waited a
moment ; it came nearer. I drew back into
the shadow. Now it was on the top stair.
A form appeared in sight. It was Wilfred
Colensoe.

" Colensoe," I cried, softly ; " why, what's
the matter ? "

He made no answer. With monotonous
step he descended the stairs and was now at
the bottom. His blank, staring eyes at once
told me that he was in a state of somnam-
bulism. He was fully dressed. His face
was deadly pale, his features stolidly set, and
his lips were gently moving as though im-
pressively muttering. When he reached the
bottom stair, he turned and walked in the
direction of the room we had converted into
a studio for him. I followed on quietly.
With all the method and mysterious discre-

... y ■

/

w*

HE STOOD BEFORE HIS EASEL.

A WORK OF ACCUSATION.

637

tionary power of the sleep-walker he turned
the handle of the door and entered. The
room was flooded with light, for the roof was
a glass one. I watched him take his palette
in hand and play with the brushes on the
colours. He stood before his easel, on which
rested a half-finished canvas. And he painted
— painted as true and as sure as if awake,
blending the colours, picking out his work,
working with all his old artistic touch and
finish. All this time his lips were moving,
muttering incoherent words I could not hear.
At last he laid aside his tools with a sigh that
almost raised compassion in my heart. Then
walking towards the window at the far end
of the room, he appeared to look out upon
the sea. He was now talking louder. I
crept up to him and tried to catch a word.
It was a terrible brain -ringing word I heard
— and uttered in a way I shall never forget.
" Murder ! "

That was the word. " Murder, murder,
murder!" he muttered, with agonized face.
Yet another word came to his lips.
" Huntingdon ! "

" Murder — Huntingdon ! " I said within
myself as I linked the two words together.

The sleeping man passed his hand across
his forehead. It was evident that he was in
the midst of an agonizing dream — a vision of
conviction. Here stood the guilty man
befo r e me now, pale and motionless, the rays
from the moon lighting up his face and
revealing the word " guilt " written on every
feature. I watched him and waited for some-
thing else to come from his lips. I stood by
his side for nearly an hour, but he did
nothing more than repeat these same two
words. With measured tread he turned to
go. I followed him to his bedroom and
heard him turn the key. I sat up the
whole night — thinking. None knew of the
remarkable discovery which I had made
amongst poor Huntingdon's sketches ; none
should know of what I had learnt to-night.
By the morning I had fully determined upon
my course of action. The ramblings of a
sleep-walking man would not prove a con-
viction to those who would judge his deed.
He should convict himself. He should
witness against himself. He was a sleep-
worker. I had met with many similar cases
before, all of which tended to prove that
sleep by no means deadens the faculties of
labour. It is indisputable that the hands will
follow the inclinations of the brains of som-
nambulists. They will act as they think —
perform what they dream. If Colensoe would
only work out his terrible night dreams !

My conduct towards him at the breakfast
table and throughout the day was just the
same as ever. It was far from a comfortable
feeling, however, to pass the wine to one who
had taken another's life, and to offer an after-
dinner cigar to a murderer. The day passed.
I slept during the afternoon, for I was
tired with my over-night watching, and could
I but put my inward plans into execution, it
was more than probable that I should be
awake for many nights to come. I told my
wife that Colensoe was a somnambulist, and
that he worked at the canvas equally as well
whilst sleeping as waking. I impressed upon
her the absolute necessity of silence on the
subject, as I firmly believed that I was on
the brink of a great discovery. Seeing that
I was a medical man, her curiosity was in no
way aroused. Indeed, she thought me
foolish to give up my night's rest.

That night, after Colensoe had gone to
bed, I went into his studio. My hand
trembled somewhat as I placed on his easel
a square piece of new canvas. This done,
I waited patiently. A step on the stairs
rewarded me. It was Colensoe walking
again. His speech was louder this time, and
more impressively distinct ; his dream was
evidently more agonizing than the night
before. If he would only follow out the
promptings of that dream — if he would but
work to-night — to-night ! I watched him
breathlessly. He wandered about the room
for some time, then suddenly, as though
impelled by some mysterious force within,
crossed to the cupboard where he kept his
tools, took out his materials and walked to
the canvas.

" Huntingdon — Huntingdon ! " he cried,
and the first lines of his everlasting vision
were written on the hitherto untouched
canvas. It was the outline of a man's face !
For two hours he worked, and then, replacing
his brushes and palette, went to bed. I
took the canvas away. Night after night for
ten days I placed the canvas in position.
Night after night the artist got nearer to
accomplishing his own condemnation. And
as the picture grew more like the man he
had murdered, so his dream became more
intense. His features showed that. The
rapidity of his brush revealed the rush of
thoughts within, of an anxiety to complete
his task. Never was such a true portrait
painted, and when on the last night he put
the finishing touches -to it, the face of
Huntingdon seemed to live on the canvas.
It was the face which existed in the brain of
the painter. The last night's work was

6 3 8

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

done. The sleeping man turned from his
easel and went to his bedroom once more.

The morrow would tell me if Colensoe was
guilty. I had little doubt of it in my own
mind — but he should say so himself when
waking as he had condemned himself whilst
sleeping. I would take him to the studio
and confront him with his own testimony.
He should see the face of the man whose
life he had taken, painted with his own
hands. He was later than usual in coming
down that morning. I left the breakfast-
room with the intention of calling him, when,
just as I got into the passage, I saw him at
the top of the stairs. His hat was on. His
face was ghastly pale, every feature was work-
ing. His eyes betokened some mad intention
— their gaze appeared to kill. He almost
flew down the stairs.

" Don't stop me," he cried. " I must go
into the open. I want God's air. Let me
go now — let me go, only for a little while ! "

" Colensoe," I said, catching him by the
arm, " what mad act do you contemplate ? "

"Nothing — nothing. Believe me, nothing.
I only wart the refreshing breeze, that's all.
I'm tired — worn out."

" Yes, you are truly tired," I said.

" What do you mean ? " he cried.

" Your work."

" Work — what work ? — who works ? "

"Come with me," I said.

Like a child he followed me to his studio.

i

I opened the door. The portrait of Hunt-
ingdon rested on the easel. He saw it.
The eyes he had painted pierced him to the
heart, and the lips almost moved in accusation.
He shrieked the murdered man's name and
fell to the ground. He was dead !

The following letter was found on Wilfred
Colensoe's dressing-table : —

" What good is life to me? — what good am
I for life ? Then why live ? A guilty con-
science only means a living death. You have
been very good to me — both you and your
wife. But I am going to end it all. Let me
confess. It will bring me some small comfort
even now in the dying hour I have given to
myself. You remember poor Huntingdon ?
I shot that man — murdered him. Listen and
then ' Good bye.' Huntingdon and I were
friendly rivals. You remember my picture of
' The Duel ' ? Yes. One day I visited
Huntingdon. That same morning I had
been making some studies of a revolver in the
act of being discharged. I had it in my
pocket when I went to see Huntingdon, and
one chamber remained loaded. I walked
straight into his studio. As I entered
Huntingdon had a pistol in his hand
pointed immediately towards me and —
fired. In an instant my revolver was in my
grasp and a bullet had entered his heart.
That is the simple history of the crime. I
fled from the place and none knew. Thank
God this is written.
A life for a life. I
am passing through
death all the day,
and at night I do
not cease to die.
You do not know
what that means.
The guilty do.
Angels of darkness
play with you all
day long and at
night watch over
you — watch over
you that you do
not escape, that
they may gambol
with you on the
morrow. They are
making merry now.
They have got
what they want —
Me. Yes, a life
for a life. I will
deliver my own
up. Good-bye."

HE SHRIEKED THE MURDERED MAN S NAME.

The Queer Side of Things.

10UNG BANSTED DOWNS
had finally arrived home from
school; the cabman had placed
his box in the front hall, and
young D. was in the act of
hanging up his hat on the stand,
when the elder Bansted Downs, his father,
put his head out of the library, and said : —

"And now, young Bansted Downs, what
sphere in life do you propose to fill ? "

"I have been thinking, old Bansted Downs,"
replied the youth, respectfully, " since I left
school seventy-five minutes ago, that I should
prefer to be something prosperous."

The father nodded his head approvingly at
this evidence of foresight in his child, and
said : —

" I think you have come to a very wise
decision, young Bansted Downs. No doubt
you have, while at school, selected such
studies as were best fitted to prepare you for
the struggle of life ? "

"I think so. old Bansted Downs," replied

the son. " The head-master took in regularly
for our use all the best prize-competition
periodicals ; in fact, he was of opinion that a
complete selection of these rendered all other
educational books superfluous. I myself
have attained to such dexterity in guessing the
right word, deciding on the best eight pictures
and the two best stories, divining the correct
number of pairs of boots made in London on
a given day, and so forth, that Dr. Practiccle
pronounced my education singularly com-
plete."

"Good — very good! young Bansted
Downs," said the father, thoughtfully; "and
now as to a more specific choice of pro-
fession ? "

"Well, old Bansted Downs," said the son,
" I have been thinking that I should like to be
apprenticed to a Genius, with a view to
adopting his calling."

" Very well thought out," said the parent.
" I must consider whether the necessary
premium "

" Pray do not trouble about that," said the
son, " as my success at the word competi-
tions has more than provided for the con-
tingency." And young Bansted Downs drew

640

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

from his pocket a large bag filled with a
mixture of sovereigns, marbles, and pepper-
mint-drops.

" Very good ! Then the matter's settled ;
and perhaps you would like something to
eat."

All the friends by whose opinion old Ban-
sted Downs set any store heartily approved of
young Bansted Downs's choice of a calling ;
and the matter was fully discussed that even-
ing. The advertisement columns of the
newspapers were consulted as to the most
suitable genius to undertake the charge of
the youth ; and the following seemed pro-
mising : —

" To Parents and Guardians. — Young men
of promise wishing to
adopt the profession of
genius will do well
to apply to Brayne
Power and Sons, of
3019A, George Street,
Hanover Square, who
have a vacancy for
one apprentice. Tele-
phone No. 7142863."

The very next
day young Bansted
Downs called at the
address given, and
was shown into the
presence of Power
senior, a man of
venerable appear-
ance, whose high
broad forehead, far-
away gaze, long hair,
and abstraction suffi-
ciently revealed his
calling.

"It will be fifty
pounds — twenty-five down, and the rest in
monthly instalments of one pound after you
have got your H.A.W.," said the Master
Genius.

" If you please, what is my H.A.W. ? "
asked young Bansted Downs.

"Your final degree — your Head Above
Water."

" That will not be just yet ? " asked the
youth. ..

" Oh, dear, no ! Not for a very long while,
if ever. There are two preliminary degrees
to get before that. "There are the F.I.
and the E.P. — your Foot In and your Ear of
the Public ; and before you can obtain either
of these you will have to Make your Mark."

" I can sign my name — will not that do as
well ? " asked the youth.

" That entirely depends upon the sort of
name. If it's just a surname with a coronet
over it, it entitles you to your F.I. and your
E.P. without any examination. You have
the same advantage if you can append to
your signature either of the following
affixes : P.P. (Pertinacious Pusher) or C.I.
(Chum of the Influential).

" But if you can't sign these kinds of names,
you will have to Make your Mark. It's a
difficult mark, and requires a lot of learning.
" As the first instalment of twenty-five
pounds down is all I am ever likely to get, I
will take it now — no, that one won't do ; it's
a peppermint-drop, not a sovereign. That's
not the way to get on, young man ! "

" Isn't it ? " asked
young Bansted
Downs thoughtfully.
" I'm glad you told
me. I thought per-
haps it might be ;
but, of course, I've
got to learn."

That very week
young Bansted
Downs commenced
his studies under the
Master Genius. He
found he had a very
great deal to learn.

" The difference
between talent and
genius is that talent
does what it can and
genius does what it
must — you will find
that in the poets,"
said the Master
Genius. "Conse-
quently, to be a
genius, you need not feel that you have
the ability to do a thing, but only that it is
necessary to do it. A house-painter is a
specimen of genius : he has not the ability
to do his work ; but he is compelled to do it
in order to obtain the means for his Saturday
drinks. But, of course, that's only one kind
of genius. What we have to teach you first
is to feel that you must do something
transcendent — and then all you've got to do is
to do it — see ? "

So, acting on his instructions, young
Bansted Downs went to the office and sat
quite still day after day for a month or two,
with his eyes fixed on space ; and one after-
noon at the end of that time he got up and
rushed at Power junior (who took charge of
him in these preliminary studies), and an-

THE MASTER GENIUS.

THE QUEER SIDE OF THINGS.

641

nounceci that he felt the
irresistible impulse to do
something great and
wonderful.

"What sort of thing?"
asked the Junior Genius.

" I don't know — any-
thing — something stupend-
ous and transcendent — a
master-piece ! " said young
Bansted Downs.

" Knock it off, then.
Don't make a labour of it,
mind ; that would spoil all
the genius of it. Just knock
it off — shed it — see ? "

The apprentice went back
to his stool in the corner
and knocked off that scin-
tillation of genius.

" Very good for a be-
ginner," said the Junior
Genius; "you show much
promise. I shall soon be
able to hand you over to
my father for the Higher
Grades."

And some time after that
young Bansted Downs
moved into the room of
the Master Genius to learn
the higher attributes of
genius — eccentricity and
obscureness. These were the most lm
portant parts of the qualifications, and
he worked hard at acquiring them. The
eccentricity had infinite ramifications ex-
tending into lan-
guage, manner,
dress, habits, ap-
pearance, and
opinions. The
teacher communi-
cated a thousand
little touches of
eccentricity in-
valuable to a
genius — such as
the bringing out
of a book of poems
with the title
printed upside
down and the
capitals at the end
of the lines instead
of the beginning;
the wearing of the
back hair tied in
a bow under the

I

HOUSE-PAINTER IS
ECIMEN OF GENUS."

the most

tip of the nose, and so
forth. The pupil learned to
hop backwards on to a
public platform, wearing his
dress-coat upside down, to
paint his figures with their
bones outside their skin, to
sob audibly when perform-
ing on. the piano ; and
many other things neces-
sary to the obtaining of his
degrees.

Having completed these

studies, he was ready for

the uphill work of trying

to Make his Mark ; and he

found it a complicated bit

of drawing too, far worse than the signature

of a Chinese emperor — everything lay in the

flourish.

The Master Genius said that no one could
Make his Mark without a great flourish ; and
the best way to make the flourish -was to
blow it on his own trumpet; so there was
the expense of a trumpet.

But he didn't seem able to get on; and
after he had worn out a gross of pens in the
attempt to Make his Mark he felt that he
would never obtain his degrees, and took a
back cistern-cupboard under the roof in a
poor street, and fell into a low state.

One day, as he was eating his weekly
sausage at the Three Melancholy Geniuses,
off Fleet Street, there entered a party whom
he knew slightly and who had Made his
Mark and passed all his degrees some time
before.

"to sob audibly when pi

RPORMING

UN THE PIANO,

6_[2

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

" Haven't Made your Mark yet ? " said this
party. " Tell you what — why don't you get
Boomed ? "

" Does it hurt ? " asked young Bansted
Downs.

" Hurts your self-respect just a little and
your respect for your fellow-creatures a little
more — but it's nothing," replied the party.

" Where do you go ? "

"To the Press Booming Department, of
course. Just put your name down for
Booming, and fill up a form, stating what
you require said about you. You began
all wrong : I never studied — I only went
and put my name down the moment
it occurred to me that I would be a
genius. I called at the office every day,

he got his Boom, and several editors
wrote to him ; and he began to be a little
successful.

He hired halls, and went before the public
in person ; and painted on the platform; and
sang and played his own compositions to
them ; and recited his own poems, and acted
his own plays ; and told them about his own
scientific researches, and his military, ex-
ploratory, judicial, political, and athletic
achievements.

But the thing dulled off, for one day a
deputation of the public called at the Boom-
ing office to ask something about him ; and
the office had forgotten his name, and said
that he wasn't being Boomed now, as Smith
was up : and so the public got on an omni-

" I CALLED AT THE OFFICE EVERY DAY AND SHOUTED MY NAME

and shouted my name, and created dis-
turbances, and got turned out ; until at
last they couldn't stand it any longer,
and my turn came.

" They put a long article about me in
every newspaper, all the same day — mostly
interviews — and quoted me as a classic.
Some of 'em described me as a painter, and
others as a novelist : I never was either ; but
it answered all right."

So young Bansted Downs went to the
Booming office, and put his name down,
and. shouted ; and the end of it was

bus and went to Smith's hall, and Bansted
Downs faded out.

After that he was to be found all day at the
Three Melancholy Geniuses, drooping over
fours of Irish ; and one day his late instructor
happened to come in and find him thus, with
his melancholy nose over the edge of his
glass.

" Haven't got your Head Above Water, I
see?" said the Master Genius. " Sorry you
haven't Made your Mark."

" I've made a good many," said Downs,
pointing to the wet rings on the counter.

THE QUEER SIDE OF THINGS.

643

" Ah, that sort of mark's no use — unless
you make it in Company," said
the Genius.

"haven't got your head ABOVE WATER, I SEE?"

One day, as young Bansted Downs sat in
his cistern-cupboard biting his nails, a step
was heard on the stair, and his late instructor
entered.

" I've been all wrong," he said, sitting
down on the cistern. " I put you all wrong —
I've put all my pupils all wrong. I fell down
stairs lately and knocked my head, and
when I got up I saw everything — the light
broke in upon me ! "

"Why, you've cut your hair, and you're
dressed quite neatly — I should hardly have
known you for a Master Genius at all ! "
exclaimed young Bansted Downs.

" I am no longer a Genius — I am now
the M.W.K.A.A.I.— the Man Who Knows
All About It. I now know why genius fails
to get the Ear of the Public, and is not
appreciated "

" Fault of the public — everybody knew
that before," growled young Bansted Downs.

" Pardon me, it is not the fault of the
ppor public, but the fault of the system.
We — the entertainers — have made the
mistake of being geniuses ; whereas we

had no business to meddle with genius
at all.

" It is the public who ought to have the
genius ; they should have the lively apprecia-
tion, the keen sense of humour, the afflatus,
and all that ; and then those who cater for
them would not need to trouble about those
things — they would only have to cater, and
leave the public to perceive, by means of
their genius, the excellences of the fare
provided. If a plain person does something,
and geniuses perceive greatness in it, that's a
right state cf affairs ; but if a genius does
something great, and plain persons fail to
appreciate it, that's a wrong state of things,
and a waste of material — see ? "

" And what do you propose to do ? " asked
young Bansted Downs.

" That's very simple — just make geniuses of
the public. Of course the public, having their
own affairs to attend to, will not wish to
turn caterers and originate — their province is
to appreciate, perceive, applaud, and pay at
the doors — see? By this system any dullard
is enabled, without effort, fatigue, or preli-
minary study, to Make his Mark and get
his F.I., his E.P., and his H.A.W. A child
could use it."

" But," objected young Bansted Downs,
" under your system, dullardism paying so
well, everybody would want to cater for the
public, and there wouldn't be any audience —
any public."

" Pooh ! The system at present in vogue
is all I require — compulsory education.
Everybody will have to be educated as a
genius, except a few who will be specially
exempted from attendance at the Board
schools to enable them to lie fallow and fit
themselves for originators.

" Of course, you may say that it would not
be necessary for the entertainer to be dull.
Of course it would not ; but, as it is not
necessary for him to be a genius either, there
would be a waste of public money in educat-
ing him as one. In fact, it might be a
disadvantage for both originator and ap-
preciator to be geniuses, and their conceptions
might clash and create confusion. It's better
for a conception to be lighted from one side
only, as you get more contrast."

"But would not the genius of the spec-
tator simply perceive the dulness of the
originator ? "

" Not in the least. It's just the sphere of
genius to perceive, in a given production, ex-
cellences which the ordinary observer fails to
detect ; and it's only a question of degree of
genius. I take it that perfect genius can de

644

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

tect perfect excellence in everything submitted
to its discrimination. And now, will you be
kind enough to come and vote for me, as for
the furtherance of my scheme I am offering
myself as Chairman of the School Board ? "

In due course, the Man Who Knew All
About It was elected to the School Board.
He secured this by publishing handbills de-
claring his intention to squander the rate-
payers' money like water, and provide free
food, clothing, lodging, sweets, tobacco,
drinks, theatres, and pianos to all the Board
school children and their parents, relatives,
and friends. The public judged by the pro-
ceedings of past candidates, all of whom
had deliberately broken their promises on
coming into office ; and they concluded that
this one would do so as well, and
refuse to spend a penny. The Board were
compelled to choose him as Chairman ; and
he at Once commenced his work of reform.

Genius took the place of all the former
studies at the Board schools : no pupil was
permitted to leave until he had passed the
fifth standard, which turned him out a full-

Young Bansted Downs now set himself to
steadily forgetting all the genius he had
learned, feeling that it would be nothing but
an incumbrance in his new career ; and he
succeeded so well that in the course of a few
years he had become as dull as ditch-water.

Meanwhile a new public were growing up,
a public of such brilliant perceptions — so
great a faculty of appreciation — that they
were quite bewildered with the excellences
they perceived in everything around them.

To take the sense of humour alone : they
possessed it to so marvellous an extent that
they could perceive a joke in the passing cloud,
facetiousness in the growth of flowers, a
choice witticism in the rates and taxes, an
incentive to mirth in strikes. Not that they
were incessantly giggling — that would have
argued a something wanting ; no, they drank
in and appreciated and enjoyed the universal
humour, and their eyes were bright.

So, when young Bansted Downs was
middle-aged Bansted Downs he started all
over again in quite a different way : he just
wrote twaddle, and painted twaddle, and

THE GENIUS CLASS AT THE BOARD SCHOOL.'

fledged genius ; and he had to attend until
he could pass it, even if he became old and
decrepit. This was a wise step ; for, had
this rule been relaxed, those unable to pass
tb.2 standard would have joined the ranks of
the originators, and thus flooded the market.

composed twaddle; and went on to a platform
and twaddled about twaddle : and the public
genius detected the brilliancy lurking in it all,
and they were in ecstacies.

A terrible thing happened to the Boom
Department of the Press. One day -the

THE QUEER SIDE 01 THINGS.

645

A CHOICK WITTICISM IN" THK RATES AM

public arose as one man and remarked that
they were capable of finding out merit for
themselves and no longer required the Depart-
ment ; and they took large stones, and bad
eggs, and dead cats, and fagots of wood,
and proceeded to the Boom Department;
and it was in vain that the head of the Depart-
ment came out on the balcony and pleaded
that the Booming System, as practised by
the Press, had nothing to do with the finding-
out of merit ; for the public smashed the
windows and burned the offices, and abolished
the Boom Department.

However, nobody required Booming now,
as absence of ability was no longer a bar to
fame ; and things worked far more happily
than they ever had under the old system.
Authors and others no longer pined under
want of appreciation ; on the contrary, they
were always wildly surprised at the wonderful
things the public discovered in their work ;
and as for the public, they were vastly
contented.

It's the true system — there's not a question
about that.

T. F. Sullivan.

6 4 6

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

THE QUEER SIDE OF THIMGS.

647

6 4 8

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

COMPLIMENTARY (A Fact).

gi.adys: "grandpa, what are those strings .made of ?"
grandpa: "cat-gut, my dear.'
gladys: "what's that?"

grandpa (jokingly): " oh, the 1nsides of pussies dear."

gladys (after a pause): l: i suppose they found out they were good for that on account of the noise
cats make. 1 "

TURN THESE UPSIDE DOWN.

INDEX.

I' AGE

ADJUTANT'S LOVE STORY, THE. From the French of Le Comte Alfred de ViGNY ... 528
(Illustrations by H. R. Millar.)

ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES. By A. Conan Doyle.
(Illustrations by Sidney Paget.)

XIV. — The Adventure of the Cardboard Box 61

XV. — The Adventure of the Yellow Face 162

XVI. — The Adventure of the Stockbroker's Clerk 281

XVII. — The Adventure of the "Gloria Scott" 395

XVIII. — The Adventure of the Musgrave Rituai 479.

XIX. — The Adventure of the Reigate Squire 601

"AUTHOR! AUTHOR!" By E. W. Hornung 241

(Illustrations by W. S. Stacey.)

BARNARDO, DR. (See" Illustrated Interviews.") 173

BEAUTIES :—

I. — Ladies: The Countess of Annesley, The Misses Hathaway (Twins), Miss Hayter,
Miss Lee, Miss Mence 74

II. — Children : Miss Beaumont, Miss Cross, Miss Dunlop, Miss Marguerite Foster,
Miss Serjeant, Miss Waterlow, Miss White, Misses White, Miss Winstead ... 186

III. — Ladies : Princess Ahmadee, Madame Arnoldson, Miss Dorothy Dorr, Miss Flo
Henderson, Miss Kingsley, Miss Alice Lethbridge, Madame Schirmer-Mapleson,
Mlle. del Torre, Miss Webster 292

IV. — Ladies : Miss Archer, Lady Charles Beresford, Miss Flo Beresford, Miss Bran-
son, Mrs. Brate, Miss Lloyd, Miss Decima Moore, Miss Ripley, Miss Nellie Simmons 415

V. — Children : Miss Kate Birch, Miss Doris Collins, Miss Erna Collins, Miss
Gascoyne Dalziel, Miss Elsie Diedrichs, Miss Gladys Herbert, Miss Dorothy
Norcutt, Miss Maude Wallis, Miss Kathleen White 525

VI. — Ladies : Lady Aberdeen, Miss Ella B/wister, Miss C. L. Foote, Miss Friend, Miss
L. Harold, Miss A. Hughes, Mrs. Marsh, Miss Alice Ravenscroft, Miss Norah
Williams , 613

CARDS, PECULIAR PLAYING 77, 148

CHILD'S TEAR, A. From the French of Edouard Lemoine 95

(Illustrations by Paul Hardy.)

COURTSHIP OF HALIL, THE. By A. F. Burn 84

(Illustrations by H. R. Millar.)

DARK TRANSACTION, A. By Marianne Kent 362

(Illustrations by Paul Hardy.)

DEAD OF NIGHT, AT. By Mrs. Newman 498

(Illustrations by W. B. Wollen.)

DICTATES OF FASHION, FUTURE 551

( Written and Illustrated by W. Cade Gall.)

Vol. v.— 84.

65^

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

FASHION, FUTURE DICTATES OF

FURNISS, MR. HARRY. (See "Illustrated Interviews.")

55'
57i

GAME OF CHESS, A. Translated from the French
(Illustrations by Paul Hardy.)

219

HANDS. By Becki.es WiLlson '

(Illustrations from Photographs of Casts.)

HUMANE SOCIETY, ROYAL. With Portraits of Winners of the Medals
(Illustrations from Photographs. )

•• 119, 295
.. 370, 446

ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. By Harry How.

XIX. — The Lord Bishop ok Ripon

(Illustrations from Photographs by Messrs. Elliott & Fry.)
XX. — Dr. Barnardo

(Illustrations from Photographs by Messrs. Elliott & Fry. )
XXI. — Mr. and Mrs. Kendal •

(Illustrations by Mr. Kendal ; and from Photographs by Messrs. Elliott & Fry.)

XXII. — Sir Robert Rawlinson

• ' (Illustrations from Drawings and Paintings ; and from Photographs by Messrs. Elliott & Fry. )
XXIII.— Mr. Harry. Furniss : ' ;

(Illustrations by Harry Furniss ; and from Photographs by Messrs. Elliott & Fry. )

17,!
228

513

57i

KENDAL, MR. AND MRS. (See " Illustrated Interviews.") ... ... ... 22S

LIEUTENANT GAUTHIER. From the French of Jose" de Campos 616

(Illustrations by H. R! Millar.)

LITTLE SURPRISE, A. Adapted from the French of A. Dreyfus by Constance Beerbohm ... 25
(Illustrations by W. S. Stacey.)

MAJOR'S COMMISSION, THE. By W. Clark Russell 138

(Illustrations by W. Christian Symons.)

NANKEEN JACKET, THE. From the French of Gustave Guesviller 418

(Illustrations by H. R. MILLAR.)

ONE AND TWO. By Walter Besant ... ... ... ... ... 44

(Illustrations by John Gulich. )

PIERRE AND BAPTISTE. By Beckles Willson

(Illustrations by Paul Hardy.)

PLAYING CARDS,. PECULIAR.. By. George Clulow

(Illustrations from facsimiles of Curious Playing Cards. ) . -

PORTRAITS OF CELEBRITIES AT DIFFERENT TIMES OF THEIR LIVES :—

Abel, Sir Frederick, Bart.
Ad'i.er, Dr. Hermann ...
Alison, Sir Archibald ...
Battersea, Lord...
Beresford, Lord Charles
Cowen, Frederic H.

Furniss, Harry

Girard, Miss Dorothf.a

589
278
279
274
393
161
586
59

Gould, Rev. S. Baring-
Hading, Madame Jane
Hall£, Sir Charles ...

Halle 1 , Lady ■

Hardy, Miss Iza Dufkus
Haweis, Rev. H. R. ...
Herkomer, Mr. Hubert, R
Houghton, Lord

... 547
77- 148

■■■ 392

. 280

• 277
. 276

• 473
. 160

• 474
. 156

INDEX.

651

PORTRAITS OF CELEBRITIES AT

Hunter, Colin, A.R.A 588

Kelvin, Lord 590

Knill, Mr. Stuart (Lord Mayor) ... 60

Leslie, the Late Fred 58

Lloyd, Edward ... 478

MacWhirter, John, R.A 476

Nicol, Erskine, A.R.A. 475

Orchardson, W. Q., R.A 275

Pettie, John, R.A 157

Potter, Mrs. Brown- 389

PkiNCEss Marie of Edinburgh ... 56

Prince Ferdinand of Roumania ... 57 1

PRINCE OF WALES AT SANDRINGHAM, THE

{Illustrations from Photographs by Bedford Le'mere and \Y

DIFFERENT TIMES OF THEIR LIVES (continual) :-

Prince of Wales

Princess of Wales

Reid, Sir George, P.R.S.A.

Roberts, John ...

Robertson, J. Forbes

Russell, W. Clark ;..• ... .'

Teck, Duchess of

Teck, Duke of ...

Vaughan, Cardinal

Vaughan, Cardinal, Father and Brothers
of

& D. Downey. 1

QUASTANA THE BRIGAND. From the French of Alphonse Daudet
.-- (Illustrations by JEAN de PalEologue.)

The

QUEER SIDE OF THINGS, THE :
Bottle from the Deep Sea, A
Children of a Thousand Years
Cloaks and Mantles ---."..

Crocodile Story, A

Drinking Vessels of All Ages C
Dwindling Hour, The (*r:
Explosion of a Locomotive t»f..
Horse and Its Occupations'
Hunter and the Bird, The
Judge's Penance, The . ...
Mandrake Roots ^~
Miscellaneous * ...
N.P.M.C, The "...
Old Joe's Picnic (*?..

Pal's Puzzles .'.

Room Papered With Stamps

Sagacity of a Dog f^ ...

Story of the King's Idea £-

Tables of a Century i ...

Turnip Resembling a Human Hand£-^

Use for Genius t <7.

Vegetable Oddities '

Who Are These ?

c^

RAWLINSON, SIR ROBERT. (See "Illustrated Interviews.") ...

RIPON, THE LORD BISHOP OF. (See "Illustrated Interviews.")

ROSITA. From the French of Pitre Chevalier

(Illustrations \fj H. R. Millar.)

104

390
39i
587

394

477

55

15S

159
59i

592

y-i
124

214
542
106
3^4

3 22

9$

214

430

10S

535
105
64S
315

423
215

• 321
. 216

. 209

, 646

• 321

• 639
4.432

• 544

• 5'3

12
. 302

SANDRINGHAM, THE PRINCE OF WALES AT

(Illustrations from Photographs.)

SHADOW OF THE SIERRAS, IN THE. By Iza Duffus Hardy

>" (Illustrations by Paul Hardy.)
SHAFTS FROM AN EASTERN QUIVER. By Charles J. Mansford, B. A

VII. — Margarita, the Bond Queen of the Wandering Dhahs

VIII.— The Masked Ruler of the Black Wreckers

IX.— Maw Sayah, the Keeper of the Great Burman Nat

X. — The Hunted Tribe of Three Hundred Peaks

XI. — In Quest of the Lost Galleon

XII. — The Daughter of Lovetski the Lost

(Illustrations by A. Pearse.)

327
433

3

1 89
25S
340

453
561

652

THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

SLAVE, A. By Leila Hanoum. Translated from a Turkish Story
{Illustrations by H. R. Millar.)

SPEAKER'S CHAIR, FROM BEHIND THE. Viewed by H. W. LUCY
(Illustrations by F. C. Gould.)

STRANGE REUNION, A. By T. G. Atkinson

(Illustrations by A. J. Johnson.)

FACE
■■ 203

29. '&> 267- 381, 49°. 624

376

TYPES OF ENGLISH BEAUTY. (See " BEAUTIES.")

WEATHERCOCKS AND VANES

S (Written and Illustrated by Warrington Hogg.)

WEDDING' GIFT, A. By Leonard Outram
(Illustrations by Paul Hardy.)

WORK OF ACCUSATION, A. By Harry How
(Illustrations by John Gulich.)

ZIG-ZAGS AT THE ZOO. By Arthur Morrison.
VII. — Zig-Zag Cursorean.£>
'III. — Zig-Zag Phocine K.,

IX — ZrG-ZAG CONKAVIAN „.

X.— Zig-Zag Ophidian ^ ...
XL— Zig-Zag Marsupial-^
XII. — Zi6-'Zag Accipitrai...^
(Illustrations by J. A. Shepherd.)

351

633

35
129

248
407

464
593

GEORGE NEYVNES, LIMITED. 8. 0, 10 AND II. SOUTHAMPTON STEEET, AND EXETER STREET, STRAND. W.C